Blame It On the Moon
by flawsinscience
Summary: sequel to Wherever You Will Go, characters include Ric and Connie, a bit of Michael and contains a strong story line
1. Chapter 1

This is the sequel to Wherever You Will Go, it follows a few months after its predecessor left off. I don't know how long it will be as yet but similar to WYWG, I'll leave you in peace and savour any reviews you give me...

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Part One: _Somewhere Only We Know _

It had barely reached dawn in Holby, the sun was beginning its daily journey across the sky, the grass was slowly shaking off it's dewy downy. The sound of birds in the sky was growing as Larks came to life; sane humans were still in bed. Yet she had been up since the small hours, unable to sleep as the events of that night a year ago played coldly on her mind, mugging her of sleep. Giving up the fight at three am she'd begun a journey she felt would become a pilgrimage.

Alighting the train her mind still ran through the motions, the sombre rush of adrenaline as she did her utmost in theatre, the sorrowful anguish of sitting with him in intensive care, the pointless heroics at the end of it all. The ultimate draining feeling of disappointment in herself, the disgust, the grief.

Autopilot had taken over as soon as she was out of the house, sitting on the train wasn't a new event, and it was just her destination that changed. She could see the taxi driver's pitiful eyes as she asked for the graveyard. Giving him an overgenerous tip she paused whilst he drove off before bracing herself. The gates were heavy to the touch, the solid iron moving with a light groan. She criss crossed through the gravestones, taking a muddled path to the headstone she was looking for.

It looked no different to any of the other headstones surrounding it, still just as shiny as a year ago, well kept with a pot of daisies sat in front of it, a simple message being displayed:

Final resting place of William Alexander Curtis Harding  
Born 7th August 1963  
Died 5th April 2005

Valiant fighter, provider, father and hero

Her finger traced the outline of the cold black letters, moulding their information onto her mind. "I'm so sorry," she whispered furiously wiping away a predicted tear from her eye "I wish you were still here, I wish you'd stuck around, I wish this past year hadn't happened, you hadn't died, I hadn't moved to London, the attack hadn't happened, I wasn't sat here about to lose control, my waste of space husband was rotting in jail... I'm just sorry," she sobbed her crouched position crumbling into a heap, the sticky dew mingling with the fibres on her clothes. There were collections of snow drops beginning to form on the grassy interludes, forming an unkempt path of memories, their cousins neatly tended to on the pathways.

"I bet you think I'm some sort of idiot now. I was supposed to be your boss, the strong unemotional git who forced you to try your hardest to reach your potential. You were right on target to do that y'know, I'd never let onto that fact but you were indeed bound to be one of the best surgeons going. Looking back I probably would of done things differently. Hindsight is supposed to be wonderful, I disagree, it's a bastard who keeps coming back to bite you in the backside reminding you of just how truly stupid you can be," she paused to take a breath, rekindle any kind of spark in her numb body. As she made a move to stand up she felt the familiar grip tighten on her shoulder.

"Connie," the voice was distinctly male, its husky, honey laced drawl spoke in tones intimately known to her.

"Ric," she sounded startled to him, he'd silently watched her struggle to spill out the words, the ideal councillor for her, accepting everything she said without question.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she asked subtly, gently letting his arm slip round her shoulders.

"It's been a year," she shrugged, nodding towards Will's final resting place.

"Oh I'm sorry Connie, I never realised," he replied, gripping her shoulders tightly as she attempted to take a shaky step, if he still knew her as well as he had, he was sure she had barely let coffee pass her lips before she'd begun her journey. Her once toned physique was slowly fading into a bundle of bones and flesh.

"I don't expect anyone to remember him, he wasn't much to most people," herb head shifted away from his gaze, her hand furiously wiping away her tears of fallen pride.

"Did you ever get over him properly?" Ric asked tentatively, bringing his arms around her into a proper hug.

"Do you ever," she sighed evasively, "anyway, why are you here? Graveyards can't be that interesting on a Saturday morning," she continued, moving off down the neat pathway, hiding in a shadow of the imposing church.

"I come here when I need space, Paris makes ideal company at this ungodly hour in the morning," he chuckled solemnly, clearly still hurting over Paris' premature death. Somehow he, like Connie, had come to decide that his faulty Ghanaian genes were the cause for both his grandchildren to have gone before their time. Connie gripped his arm in acknowledgement, looking at his face she was met by a brave smile.

"I did try my hardest," she regretted, that day when she'd failed to save Zubin and Jess' pride and joy had been tough, she could barely bring herself to look at Ric when he'd turned up at her office, crying tears she never knew a man could posses, grieving like she never seen before. All she'd been capable of was to hold him as he sobbed, talk when he needed her to.

"We all knew you did Connie, you always do," he commented, drawn in by her face turning downwards.

"Did," Connie corrected swiftly, "I haven't been able to go back to the hospital since... well since January."

"Oh, I, I just thought that when you never came to Holby, you'd returned to your half life existence."

"Its not funny Ric. I never came back because I didn't want to be a burden, at least in London I knew I still possessed anonymity, here, it, well it would have been tougher," she trailed off turning to face them as they stood just beside the church entrance, hitting the cross roads between her exit and return to London and the path leading them to his flat.

"You would never be a burden to me," Ric sighed, immediately thinking her to be foolish, yet reconsidering in the next second, she was clearly going through an incredibly tough tumultuous time hankering after her past self, a strong, yet vulnerable confident woman and her present personality of depression and self loathing.

"How did I know you would say something like that," she smiled weakly, " I thought if I stuck it out in London then it would have worked out, that after several attempts at returning to work I would have made it back into that building." Finishing her sentence in a rush Connie let a tiny shiver creep up her body, without actually hitting the bulls eye she'd explained it explicitly enough for Ric to understand what she meant, any woman, or man for that matter who had been what she'd been through would find it hard to trust anyone more alien than a previous lover or close friend.

"Lets go back to mine, I think I've got some coffee sitting in the cupboard," Ric smiled, leading her gently out of the graveyard and off down the quiet residential street. They lightened the conversation immediately, filling the other in about idle gossip they'd picked up along the way. Ric didn't want to force the subject of her long term holiday getting her to open up at all had been a minor success, pushing her further would only reseal the lid on her anguish.

He still possessed the same tiny, enchanted flat that he had done months before. It still held the same damp stench as it had done; slightly more if Connie was a perfectly honest, new patch of off green had formed. "Coffee?" he asked politely as she took off her coat and various other layers, slipping into a vacant seat once she was done.

As he placed the coffee down on the table, he took a moment to remind himself of how she looked, without the bulk of the coat she looked even skinnier, more withdrawn and even more alarming he could see the outline of her collar bones clearer than the day he'd parted several months before. "It may seem a stupid question, but why, I know your pride was bruised but..." he asked eventually, not forcing her to answer.

"Something changed," she told him evasively, letting her gaze drop towards the coffee fixating on the intermittent swirls swimming on the surface of the novelty mug.

"You were bound to change Connie, who wouldn't given the circumstances," he replied, taking her shaking hand in his, gently steadying it as she lightly shook her head in preparation.

"I can't deal with things the same way now, the rapist took more than you can imagine, having... having, him touch me like that it..." she trailed off biting her lip slowly, taking a sip on her coffee to avoid his tell tale worrisome gaze.

"Made you vulnerable," he finished her sentence eventually.

"Yes," she smiled meekly, "and you know how well I'd of taken that. The attack was like taking candy from a baby, men were like toys, something, people, I enjoyed being around. You know I played some like cards in a poker game, its different now..."

"Now they scare you?" he questioned, her blunt, vulnerable body language was neatly filling in the gaps she was unable to discuss.

"I guess they do," she admitted draining her mug in one swift movement. Ric was acutely aware that there were fast approaching an unread border, pushing it too far would be just as devastating as stopping to soon.

"Have you heard from Zubin," Connie enquired, closing the conversations several statements earlier than Ric would of wanted to.

"He's baring up, working in a hospital in Chicago," Ric shrugged, they'd clearly held differences over what to do after Paris' death.

"And Jess?" Connie questioned inquisitively, they were each other's worst enemy, possessing the ability to get under the other's skin in an instant. Slowly his smiling face unfurled into a sad frown.

"Well she is coping if that's what you mean, she passes from one day to the next in a blur, I think my constant running off to London was good for her." seeing Connie's guilty look he continued, "I don't regret it, neither should you, she needed space and said it would be ok," he shrugged. Finishing his drink he replaced the debris to the sink, clearing his newly acquired sofa of junk so she could sit down.

"Drifting is sometimes what a grieving mother does best," Connie sighed, drawing, her knees up to cradle them in her arms.

"You sound like you talk from experience," Ric asked gently turning into an awkward situation on the sofa so that he could see her face more clearly.

"I got pregnant when I was Michael's registrar, we were the scandal of the hospital," Connie smirked, seeming pleased with herself, " I had had a hellish pregnancy and went into premature labour at 28 weeks, all in all I landed up in intensive care and the baby..." she bit her lip in a tell tale crackdown on any tears that were willing their way down her cheeks.

"Did the baby not survive?" he asked slowly.

"She did make it through the birth miraculously, but she wasn't right, the two months she spent in special care were horrible. I spent every waking moment with her, adjusting to the ideas of having the perfect little family. It ended abruptly though, she caught a major infection and died shortly after she turned two months,"

"Did you give her name?"

"Georgia Isabella" she sighed, shuffling along to his waiting arms.

"How did Michael take all of this,"

"He didn't as far as he was concerned she was an untimely mistake, he did the glorious father routine and accompanied me to the funeral, but he just seemed to numb it out."

"Men do that best," Ric smiled, "you really are an enigma sometimes, why didn't you tell me any of this before."

"It tends to kill the atmosphere stone dead, don't you think," she smiled, snuggling in closer to his slowly beating heart.

"Perhaps," Ric smiled in response.

"Anyway I don't like to be judged on it, it's something I doubt many couples would broadcast,"

"You know I'd never judge you on that, Connie," he smiled, gazing into her face for a moment, gladly feeling her hand slide up his chest moving her slender frame up to meet his gaze, stretching his hand round the back of her head he drew her face in close. For the instantaneous moment their lips brushed, a sensual healing took place, wounds sealing for forever. Ideals being disproved, barriers being rebuilt, defeated, and redone stronger and more solid than before...


	2. Somewhere Only We Know

_Here it is, if possible listen to Keane or similar, makes it appear better, I don't think there will be an update I need to(as always) concentrate on school work so enjoy and be patient. _

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Part Two:_ Somebody Out There_

It was at some point the following morning that Connie woke up, not knowing how long she'd slept, cried or talked for. They'd stopped after their kisses knowing what would easily have followed would have been what they both wanted; yet it wasn't what they needed. Instead the day had been spent talking, chattering, drinking the long out of date Ghanaian beer, stronger that the average English gin. As the midnight hour had dawned he'd gently lifted her from the sofa to his bed, slipping her gently under the covers before moving back over to the sofa for an uncomfortable nights sleep.

Making her way out of the bed slowly she began to feel the effects of the entertaining liquor from the previous night. Stepping nimbly over the strewn clothes Connie lurched over the toilet, rampantly vomiting whatever she'd eaten in the past two days, bile leaving green streaks behind. As she went for another round she relaxed slightly feeling Ric's arms hold upright, his hands trailing a gentle swirling motion on her back.

"Quite finished," he asked softly fetching a glass of water, "sip this," he told her offering the glass into her grateful hand. She looked worn out, he could feel her every muscle move as she stood up, perching on the edge of the toilet, hanging her head in shameful disgust.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed, making it unsteadily onto her feet this time, he made note to follow her right till she reached his bed, "either I can no longer hold my drink or that stuff was dodgy," she smiled slightly, lifting her legs under the covers, letting a shiver settle out before relaxing back into bed.

"You had about three glasses more than me, so I'll suggest the former," he told her worriedly, sitting calmly on the edge of the bed, "do you want a coffee?"

"Not if you want to see it again, no," Connie replied quietly, she'd all but lost her appetite in recent weeks, between the idea of returning to work, the latest bimbo she'd discovered Michael had been entertaining, not in itself a new surprise, and the unrest of Will's death playing rampantly in her mind food had become more of a chore than pleasure.

"You need to eat, Connie, or else there will be nothing left of you," Ric joked lightly," really a slice of toast won't hurt," he watched her shrug it off, taking it to be a yes he cleared a space in the debris covering the kitchen surfaces to get the necessary together. When he returned she looked slightly more awake.

"Thanks, breakfast in bed, I feel special," she replied sweetly, filling the awkward silence with superficial comments.

"I don't do this for everyone you know," he returned, content with just watching her nibble the crunchy slice of toast.

"And don't I know it, I really do appreciate this Ric, it means a lot,"

"Don't worry, you're worth it," he blushed, busying himself with tidying the room up, he'd grown sloppy on his own, only when family dare to stay did he put clothes away, if he were lucky things would find a washing machine monthly. After his early morning coffee he would seek out the cleanest socks and underwear that he had, shove on his one neat suit and make it out of the door just in time for the crowded commuter bus, often picked up by various kind people who happened to work in the hospital.

"I think you and I could do with a break," Connie told him eventually. Her point was valid, life at home was jading them both more than they would admit. She'd craved the moment when Michael would suggest an impromptu holiday to somewhere hot sunny and beyond the cares of home.

"Hmmph, I wish I could afford it," Ric replied, starting his assault on the dirty dishes lining the kitchen.

"My treat," Connie smiled, a spontaneous decision that she would happily pursue.

"You can't do that Connie, I wouldn't want to be indebted to you," he protested weakly, if she were offering a trip to somewhere hot he would be wrong to turn it down, sun sea and sangria would be the best medicine for her and in all honesty him too.

"Why would you be, Ric you quite possibly saved my life after the attack, if you hadn't spoken to me I'm confident I would be six feet under and you would be in Ghana hiding from every problem under the sun, please, by the end of the day we will be flying of to somewhere that our troubles will never find, we'll be alone and no one, not even my sainted husband will find us," finding a sudden burst of energy Connie got out of bed gently, replacing her jeans and thick jumper before Ric had time to disagree.

"How can I refuse," he smiled, "now do I pack for a hot climate or cold," he added as an after thought, knowing Connie it would be somewhere hot and sunny with plenty good alcohol to accompany it.

"Hot, naturally, but smart I don't do holiday's with riff raff," she smirked before closing the door

At nearly six o'clock Connie and Ric found themselves in the exclusive lounge of British Airways at Heathrow, sitting with a dim overview of the main runway, she hadn't told him where they were headed, other than it was hot, sunny and pleasurable. It was in fact Nice; she's pulled a couple of favours and snagged the use of a boat for a couple of weeks, provided they landed up in Monaco. The hotel had been booked for several nights; neither her stomach nor Ric would be impressed with spending their first night on board the yacht.

"I just wish you would tell me where we are headed Connie," Ric complained as she ordered them another drink, thankful of the fact they would be personally told when their flight was ready.

"No, then it wouldn't be a surprise," she smirked coyly, sipping tentatively on her glass of wine.

"I doubt much could be right now," he told her suspiciously, continually glancing round the room for any helpful information. He was also within seeing distance of a casino, the bright lights playing like Satan's dance on his mind. "I just need the loo if you'll excuse me,"

"A. a...a no you don't Mr Griffin, we weren't born yesterday, now come on have your drink and we'll be on our way soon," Connie tutted, cursing herself for not taking the opposite seat. She stifled a laugh as Ric "Hmmphed" back into his seat and dutifully drank his whisky.

It wasn't long until they were welcoming the balmly breezes of Nice. "I hope this will suffice," she smirked as they took their first proper lungful of fresh air, sitting in front of them was a dark Bentley.

"Suffice Connie, its magical, dare I ask which hotel we are staying in," Ric chuckled joining her on the cool leather seats in the car, stretching his legs out in the spacious interior.

"Negressco," she shrugged, taking in the darkened views from her window.

"What you mean," Ric paused as the car drew to a stop, through the tinted view he possesd the lights of the hotel flashed brilliantly, turning to bring them into full view he gasped with admiration at the beautiful copper jazz playing figure stood proud outside.

"Yes I mean, now hush up till we reach our room, I don't want them getting the wrong impression," she teased, accepting the hand of the waiting bellboy, prowling across the marble floored reception area. Ric following with the bemused look of a lost child playing on his face, the only holiday he'd been on recently was to Ghana where he'd worked most of it, as a child the furthest place he'd seen was London as a three year old, hardly worth mentioning.

He continued to follow her as they tackled the maze of corridors to get to their sea front room. Reaching it they both stifled a gasp as the took in the decedant room lined with soft elegant wallpaper, the four poster bed surrounded by red velvet drapes, sat to one corner of the room was a small table, two silver platters sat waiting for them.

"You really didn't need to y'know," he smiled, carefully watch her take off the trouser suit and power heals that she'd worn for the journey, preffering the subtelty of a soft black dress, its plunging neckline leaving little to be suggested.

"I took the liberty of pre ordering dinner, I have a distate of areoplane food," Connie smiled enticingly, taking up a seat at the table, drinking in the aroma as the scent of a warm salad met her lips.

"Glad to see you do actually eat then," Ric joked in response, having gladly lapped up the in flight meal he was still happy to accomodate the lastest offerings, "why the sudden change?" he questioned as she teased at a prawn.

"Talking to you last night made me realise how much of a sap I've become, in short I was releasing the inner monster and its time it got put to bed," she shrugged, the meal ensuing in pleasureable silence. Ric was happy to see her smile in semi contentedment, but couldn't help but think she was covering up for something, though he would be foolish to ask tonight when he was in the midst of a rather impressive seduction.

As they readied for bed her dress was cast off to reveal her tiny dancer frame, draped in a loose fitting lacy camisole and matching shorts, with her ruffled hair she was nothing short of beautiful. Ric quickly finished doing his teeth as she paused at the door to the bedroom. "Well," she purred standing akimbo at the door leaving Ric with no path of escape. Instead of attempting to barge past her and into their generous bed her put his arms round her waist, lifting her clear of the way with a tender kiss to loosen her. As they reached the bed their embrace tightened, leaving Connie to fall helplessly onto the bed, Ric placing his hands either side of her, berating her neck with butterfly kisses, her hands working deftly on his waist. He moved further down her body, teasing away at the soft silken straps of her top, pushing them over her freckled shoulders.  
Letting the air gently swirl around her nipples they were left in hard inviting peaks, letting his body drop slightly Ric began swirling round them with his tongue, it felt good. The type of good that he'd experienced on few occasions before, mostly with her in their former life, it was like finding the lock for his key, the piece of the jigsaw of life that he was meant to be with, it wasn't that he grudged his wives, nor his children, he'd loved them all dearly at various stages in his life, it had never been as rich as this. he could feel her wispy breath brush through his hair, giving him the meagrest of goose pimples, tantalising him further.

Slowly he worked her top over her hair, ruffling it into an even more exasperatingly sexy manner, each hair twisting and turning in swirls of perfection. Her bare stomach lurched inwards as she took a deep, preparatory breath. He responded by turning his attentions to the tiny shorts minimally covering her backside, he left them be as his finger slipped gently underneath them, shifting them an inch further down her legs. It felt just as it had done before, her juices lubricating him as he worked his way up, letting another digit come to rest on her core, millimetres from the soft cortex. It was an enjoyable game, watching her writhe under his touch, grasp at clumps of the soft throw of the bed, withdrawing his fingers he pushed back her pants, completely removing them before straddling her. She was on the verge of breaking, it was self evident that it had been an antagonising wait for her, unable emotionally to accept whatever gifts he could, yet yearning it in the same moment. She'd rightly denied herself the pleasures, not even a lustful kiss until their latest meeting only the day before. It made it much more honourees this time, he was the first one to have been this much inside her since the accident, he'd seen the effects it had had on woman worldwide, in Ghana it had been frowned on for woman to regard un-consented sex as wrong, in Britain he'd witnessed first hand the devastation it could cause to a wondrous life. Their rocking motion was gentle, he didn't want for it to be rough and meaningless, she too wanted it to last, be special, magical. He slowly reached her spot, languishing in the resonance of her scream, its reverberations reaching them as he slid further up her body, catching a point only he'd ever reached before, the place where she no longer possessed control, when every muscle weakened and scalded itself to relaxation, when it fell to the partner to moved her like a rag doll, he was as gentle as ever, her protecting angel to her devil, her guardian to her playful child, the gold to her sliver. Perfection. Releasing her grip she softly writhed her way round him, not retreating in the slightest, forcing him under her this time. He smiled lightly pleased that she felt good enough to do so, to make the forwarding move. Her arms so skill fully placed above his head buckled with the slightest of movement, producing an immense thrusting motion below, taking the opportunity to startle him slightly, the effect a long drawn out moan of ecstasy. A smile, the first proper, entirely contended smile he'd witnessed in an eon on of time. She forced down harder, clamping him like a vice, controlling her revived muscles with skill, squeezing gently then harder, letting her grip slip and once again contorting round him, his only job to keep a steady rock for her to dance around. Withdrawing she winked teasingly at him, drawing her mouth down to his chest, not kissing it but softly breathing, holding him in gear, waiting for the anticipation to build, it was like trundling up a roller coaster, the increase in suspense as the brow of the ride concedes into sight, then the thrill of the adrenaline rush as you tip over, drop the vertical height back to earth. She waited, he too now was writhing under her control she could feel her grip lubricated by his gently perspiration, lurching forward she gripped tight, swirling a finger at the tip, dipping into the golden liquor only he possessed, it was like finding the treasure at the end of the rainbow, the trinket at the end of a wearisome journey, making all the lows worthwhile...

HE watched her sleep, it was peaceful, restful, contented, her lip furled slightly as she released a soft snore. A repair had been made.


	3. Your Eyes Open

Part 3 : Blame It On the Moon 

Slowly stirring the next morning Ric roused confused, he wasn't sure if it had been a dream, an effigy, some figment of his normally sedate imagination. He couldn't be more wrong, they Ihad/I spent the most beautifully passionate night together, they Ihad/I flown to another, romantic country. He Ihad/I fulfilled every short lived fantasy. He was with Connie. Light shards fell on their bed as he propped himself up, gazing intently at her peaceful sleep he mimicked the smile toying with her features. It had been a very long time since he'd seen her relax and be totally at ease with herself. She would still have shadows of withdrawal, when she was amongst large groups of men, when he'd been there he would notice the shakes manifesting on her shoulders, the quake in her lip. It puzzled him as to why she was so much stronger in bed so to speak, yet fearful of crowds, psychoanalysis had never been his forte, nor had he needed it to be.

Staggering into his reverie he refocused his gaze on her "sorry I wasn't paying attention," he grumbled.

"I asked how long you'd been awake," she smiled, fiddling a wayward strand of hair into perfection; it wasn't a mannerism he would normally pick up, her entire demeanour somewhat like a spoilt child revelling in adoring affection.

"Not long, you looked too peaceful to wake," he shrugged propping himself upright in bed.

"It was one of the best night's sleep I've had in a long time," she smirked coyly, dragging her legs up towards her chest so they rarely scraped at her non-existent stomach. Resting her head on her knees she could keep an eye on Ric and another distant dream on the beach that lay in front of them. Sitting in companionable silence was something these two did best, neither were big talkers unless they had to say something and neither felt the superficial need to content the air between them. "We didn't come here to sit around inside all day, I'm going for a shower, then I have a surprise for you," Connie winked, releasing the bed clothes as she shuffled into the bathroom, closely followed by Ric curious as to the other surprises she'd been planning.

"There is room for two in that shower," he told her calmly, following her behind the glass partition, she wore her arms tightly across her chest as if denying him something that he desperately wanted, teasing his way under her arms he took to the full view, admiring with soft kisses as the warm water puckered down on them. He could feel her blood gently pulsating beneath her skin as he cupped her breast softly, it wasn't rough, and it didn't need to be. Every so often he would feel a stronger, more intense rush, flushing her out and rekindling the fire swiftly and more efficiently. Twirling her round like a ballerina he slowly let her fall neatly into his arms, moving like dancers in opera. Drifting back out of his arms slightly she let the water cascade between them, giving his arms space to move up and down her back, massaging the knots left in repercussion of the previous night. Slowly swivelling back round to face him she gently grasped at his erection, thrusting her hand forcefully towards the base, then releasing completely, drawing her finger back up to the tip she waited for it to well up, swell like an over inflated balloon, waiting to be popped. She was patient, letting him surpass the point at which he would need her, listening for the drop in tone as his moans varied themselves mindlessly. Flicking her finger across the tip she let her fingers graze round the base, shelling the un-open able nut, the ones that you wrestle with at Christmas in a vain attempt at avoiding awkward conversations with people forced together for one night a year under the code name of family. He soon grew tired of her actions, returning to a more normal sedate state, their morning outburst ended as she switched the shower off, dabbing at her skins softly with a towel before brushing past him in a momentary fizz of passion.

"So what are we doing today," Ric asked as he emerged from the bathroom finding Connie putting the finishing touches to a beautiful red dress concealing a black bikini beneath. He felt rather ashamed that most of the clothes he'd packed were scruffy tees still in the suitcase from his last trip to Ghana. Pulling out the kaftans he'd worn to the christening he put it on unceremoniously.

"You'll see, she told him secretively," leading him out of the room without a backward glance. Padding along the carpeted floor they met an array of odd looks from various couples returning from sunrise strolls, or whatever the latest French vogue happened to be.

Stepping out onto the promenade des Angles it was easy to see why she loved the city; sitting on the most gorgeous bay curving round perfectly was a vibrant, colourful city, proved to be loved by artists and travellers alike. The red terracotta pavement stretched out in front of them, idly concealing the pebble beach lined with over rated café's and bars. Passing them by they continued to contentedly stroll along the promenade they passed the Casino hotel, Connie averting him subconsciously towards the sea absentmindedly point out one the more prominent houses sitting on the hill overshadowing the bay.

"Take my hand," he told her softly, waiting patiently as she considered his simple request, they were both perfectly apt at fulfilling various needs the other had, yet displaying affection outside of the bedroom seemed serenely odd to her, never in a million years bar their honeymoon had she held hands with Michael, mush had not been part of their plan. They way he's asked so politely as if he were a poor child asking for a new toy, fully expecting the answer to be no, yet hoping for a yes. She felt her hand slowly unfurl and levitate towards his, gripping it slightly as they proceeded further.

"I have no idea why that was such a big deal," she whispered slowly, worried that she would some how scare him off.

"You're still getting used to the idea," he chuckled, meaning his statement more as a gentle question than a figment of conversation. By now they'd puddle along from the hotel, now a distant green topped building to the outskirts of the old town, more ornate renaissance buildings filing into view, their disorderly manner pleasing to an eye more used to looking at regular British 60's eyesores.

"It's true I guess, Michael and I never did this," she mumbled, slowly grinding to a standstill on the brow of the gentle hill. They moved towards the stone seats lining the view point giving them a breathtaking point to admire the bay and all its glory, looking hard enough they could see the next bay and the airport bridging between the two.

"You hardly seem the type," Ric admitted in return, he couldn't help his honesty, particularly over relationships, his distaste at Jess and Zubin hadn't gone un-noticed. It was the disregard for their relationship that had made Paris' passing so much worse to him. Just as he was slowly coming round to them as a couple and an entity they'd lost the one thing forcing them to make it work, the pipe dreams going up in smoke were almost too much to bear for his daughter. He wasn't as miffed by Zubin's actions, he would of done the same, bury his head in the sand for far too long and then wrestle with consequence later.

"Meaning?" she replied, shifting slightly along the bench so as to get a clearer view of his puzzled face, the look that anyone gave when they decided whether to dig the hole deeper or climb out of it again.

"You deserve better than him," he shrugged, hoping it would pass before they got any more awkward with one another, "so what is this surprise then?"

"Follow me," she told him concisely, taking his hand as they slopped off down the other side of the hill, moving amicably towards the Nice harbour, lined with various different boats, luxury cruise ships and a high proportion of expensive yachts, snuggling into his embrace as a brisk wind fondled at her short sleeves Connie swore that his heart skipped a beat in a flurry of excitement. "What do you think of this one?" she asked as they neared a more prominent, expensive yacht sitting idle amongst fishing boats.

"It's erm… rather nice," he told her with a coy looking smile, she wasn't the type of person to go pointing out insolent pieces of scenery unless it was needed.

"Well actually, I technically own it," she smirked dancing around on his arm like a love struck teenager, turning to face him as he attempted to spit out something that resembled English.

"How? I mean why? I mean wow," he stuttered, following her onto the beech wood lined boat and into the plush looking living room adorned with leather sofa's and amazing artwork, leading nicely towards the bar nestling at the end of the spacious room.

"Michael's family are too rich for their own good, we got given it for a wedding present, well sort of, his mum told us we had free use of it whenever we wanted," Connie shrugged helping herself to a seat.

"Ahh lucky you then," he muttered, joining her on the seat, "the most I got for a wedding present was a pat on the back come wife number three" he chuckled, finding the image of family and friends congratulating him minus gifts rather amusing now.

"I only married the once Ric, that's where the difference lies," she winked, becoming aware of the presence of someone else in the room. "Ahh Miguel, this is Ric a close friend of mine, we are staying on the yacht for a week," she smiled at the rather tanned twenty something year old, dressed in long shorts and a ripped t-shirt.

"Aaa Miizzz Beeeechamp, it iz so luffly to meet zo agaiiin, doez we want to go zee anyfere in partuiclar," Miguel responded in atrocious English, it was what attracted him to Connie, the fact that beyond the harbour and see he couldn't tell anyone anything, let alone call Michael to tell him otherwise.

"Cannes is supposed to be good around this time of the year isn't it, but for now I'll stay here thank you, we'll ring if we need anything else," she told him sternly, waiting till he'd shuffled uneasily out of the room before returning her attention to Ric. "Well?"

"I think this will do," he smirked, "just out of interest, did you hire him for his inability to speak English or his body,"

"Both," Connie winked, giving Ric horrific images of the two of them together out at sea whilst Michael was in the vicinity, it certainly was going to be an interesting ride.


	4. Don't Leave

Part four : Blame It on The Moon 

Landing in Heathrow a week after they'd left so abruptly, bar Diane at the hospital no one had come to know of their elopement if it were called that. Connie felt far more at ease with herself, somehow managing to mix the old Connie who she'd come to accept no longer existed with the more vulnerable person she'd become. Ric too had laid a few more daemons to rest, namely that the urge to visit one of the numerous casinos in Nice, but also the overriding guilt about Paris' death. They were each others worst nemesis, somehow managing to wrangle the most deep seeded information from the other without realising. Finding companionable silence for two people who'd lived life for its worth, sex drugs, rock and roll and the rest. Having seen so much of the world on their various travels, they knew the inevitable lull after being away would soon kick in, the inane questions of where they'd spent the past week, why they'd ditched everything to go on holiday.

Eventually clearing customs they made it out to the bag carrousel's they waited hoping for a taxi in the stretching queue outside, compared to the balmy warmth of Nice it was considerably Baltic in the cold April evening, Connie finding solace in Ric's arms as they huddled together for something resembling warmth. Drawing her phone out in boredom, Connie switched it on fully expecting there to be at least one monotonous message from her husband worried that she'd stumble him on something extra entertaining him in lieu of her. As per usual she felt the phone vibrate as she shifted her sizeable case one more place forward in the queue. Lifting the receiver to her ear she tapped her foot impatiently, wanting her guilt to last as little time as possible, "Hi Coco, its Mike, you'd probably guess that anyway, but I thought I'd tell you that the police were in touch, it appears they've caught your attacker, the DNA matched, it's brilliant news, anyway the date for the hearing is set for the 14th, they don't need you to be there for that but it would be extremely helpful, I'm not sure how this will find you, or who with, but please get in contact with me soon."

Closing the phone and replacing it to her pocket Connie stuttered slightly, attempting to process the latest revelation, it was certainly a bombshell to say in the least. "The police have caught him," she stuttered, haplessly letting a tear fall down her cheek.

"What do you mean, him," Ric asked slightly puzzled, she was going paler by the second as he slipped his arms around her, nodding in a polite way as bystanders looked bemused.

"The attacker, somehow they've caught him and he's standing trial tomorrow, Ric, why can't this just be left alone, why …" Connie mumbled, the feeling of her entire world crashing down around them was too much, Ric had been the person to keep her going before, when she was going through all of this the first time round. It was different now, she'd seen on holiday just how easy it would have been for Ric to return to his vice, the airport, in Nice. She was one risk he'd allowed himself to take, their relationship had always been constructed differently to others, built on tempering the other, leaning on them when they needed wordless support. Bringing him through all of this again would just jeopardise that further still, or so she thought. "I'll understand if you want to leave me here and go back to Holby," Connie continued eventually, releasing from his hug.

"Don't be so silly Connie, I'm not going to just leave you here," Ric smiled, reminding her slightly scarily of her dad, when she was little the little time he'd lavished on her between jobs he'd smile like that. Reassure her that she wouldn't be hurt by the world, that everything would be all right. That had been true of every year of her life till her daddy had had one too many drinks in the pub and driven himself off a bridge.

"So what do we do then," Connie enquired miserably, unable to stomach the thought of Ric and Michael in the same house. It had been bad enough in the New Year, the two clearly knew too much about the entire situation. Both doting on her in their own way, Ric with words of encouragement, Michael with the physical ability to care for her, deep down she'd know Ric to be of more use. Returning to her London abode tonight would be pointless, Michael would ask her the some total of three questions, where? Why? Who with? All of which she would answer with a single syllable purr.

"Its up to you," Ric sighed, pushing any idea towards her at this moment would be lethal, either she'd flip off the handle, as had been demonstrated at various points in the past, or she would go silent, something he'd really rather avoid.

"A hotel, I can't take Michael tonight," she whispered, shuffling unsteadily into the taxi. The rode in silence, it wasn't unusual for them. Yet tonight somehow it was different, Connie sat hunched at the left hand side window, glaring out into the rainy nothing, her hands playing nervously on the edge of her skirt, trying to somehow cover up something, something that was invisible to anyone but her. Eventually Ric could spot the tiny dot of a tear playing in her eye.

"Are you ok," Ric asked tentatively, slowly catching her eye as she turned round to talk to him, furiously wiping the salty liquid away before he supposedly saw it.

"Yes, it's just a bit of shock that's all," she replied coolly, battling every word down to her equilibrium, rocking it viciously as sat perfectly still. She had been completely unprepared for this event, she'd expected to return home to near normality, to go back to Holby, possibly returned to her job as queen bee, force a proper separation with Michael, completely move on.

"It's bound to be Connie, you're just going through the phase of blaming yourself and wondering what the hell is going on, what's going to happen, I'm just the unfortunate person clouding you're judgement by being here," Ric smiled, she was still gazing at him, looking intently at him.

"Don't psychoanalyse me, not now," she spat, turning back round to the window and shifting as far away as possible from him, though slightly infantile he felt guilty, doing that as two year old was understandable, yet doing it as fully grown up woman concerned him. Far from discussing it a unkindlier friend of silence cast over them until they reached the hotel, not as posh as in Paris, yet on the opposite side to town as Michael, not a mistake Ric figured. It was her way of dealing with things.

The room was far less decadent this time, the double bed consumed most of the room bar a sofa, fridge and TV congregated in the corner of the room, opposite was the rather cramp bathroom. Dumping her stuff on the bed Connie curled up on the sofa, clutching her knee's in her arms. Slowly Ric made his way towards her, flopping down next to her, yet keeping his arms to himself. "I'm sorry Connie, I'm just worried."

"Don't be," she retorted coldly, fiddling with her nails in nervous habit, it was far too uncomfortable for either of them, "I'm going for a shower," she continued, reversing her steps until she threw the case open and whipped out her bathing stuff, and his just for the sake of it. Closing the door forcefully behind her she left him somewhat rattled, never before had she been this irately mad around him.

Sighing he stood up, leaving her to cool off was the best policy, he busied himself unpacking various items that they would need, making a point of neatly stacking the clothes on the dusty shelf. He picked out Connie's nightie and laid it fresh onto the bed, attempting to make it as easy for her.

Meanwhile Connie stood under the poker hot water, turned up on its highest heat setting. It left tiny mottled red marks on top of her freckles, as she stood for longer it merely turned her skin vibrant red, as if she were fantastically sunburnt. Yet it wasn't releasing any of the tension she'd pent up, the anger at having to relive the sorry saga, the invasion of memories of him fingering her, of him touching her, the disgust; the stupidity. Deciding she wasn't going to get the needed result from the shower she stepped out and dabbed lightly at her blistering skin, slumping onto the floor in an untidy heap. She sat for a moment, the damp coolness of the bathtub soothing her skin marginally. Near one of the angular corners she spied the wash bags, hers was devoid or any sharp implement, she dragged it across the worn tiles, turfing his toothpaste and other obligatory objects to the side, finding the razor stuffed right at the bottom. It was like the gold medal to her at that very point in time; she lifted it out and cradled it lightly in her hand. It took some manoeuvring to release the blade. She held it between her forefinger and thumb. It glistened bright silver in the light as she let it fall towards her forearm, the bright blood bore so much familiarity, it ravened into red trails onto her towel, mixing with the debris of broken skin and drying blood. It was a release she craved. The distraction came as Ric scuffed lightly on the door, forcing it open with a single movement, she didn't agree with locks either she forgot about them, or they weren't there when she remembered.

"Connie, what the hell…" Ric's voice trailed off, he was dumbfounded into silence, she looked pitiful on the floor, curled up, verging on tears as she looked away from him; ashamed. He sat down beside her, taking her arm in his hands, slowly twisting it cracking the first layers of dried bloody forming over the neat slash. She looked worryingly like a pro, the slash sat just below her elbow joint, easily hidden by appropriate tops, close enough to the surface for her to use as reminder.

"You've not done that much damage," he told her eventually, leaving her free to whip her arm back into her own care.

"Leave it," she sniffed, verging on completely disarming herself of dignity, the red pigmentation in her skin had gone complete missed by Ric who had placed an arm around her, sending nerves into a muddled frenzy with pain and self loathing.

"No, you need to tell me what's going on," Ric told her stubbornly, not prepared for her reaction as she slowly melted down into tears, resting her crest fallen face on his shoulder, all he could do was hold her. She was a proud woman who was loosing the one thing she loved and craved. It broke his heart, to see her like this. The rape, the humiliation after it, the continuing grief of loosing Will, the admission that she'd lost a child, it accumulated into a confusing rabble. Her release just happened to spread more pain than others.

Eventually, emotionally drained and in an uneasy slumber Ric lifted Connie from the bathroom, teasing gently at the towel virtually sticking to her back, replacing it with her white night dress and laying her softly under the covers.


	5. She Will be Loved

Part 5: She Will Be Loved

A/N : If possible listen to either She Will Be Loved by Maroon Five or Tonight I'll be Lonely by Alison Krauss.

Glancing at the piercing vivid numbers on the bedside clock Connie groaned at the display, it was barely gone three am. Slightly dazed as to how she made her way from the bathroom to bed and with a clothes change she released the bed sheet sticking onto her still red raw legs and padded across the damp carpet. All of a sudden sleep seemed to have drained out of her with the neat crisp breathing, she stood in the moon light seeping through the net curtains placing her hand protectively over the bandage covering up her painstaking work. It wasn't fair that he'd stopped her, that he had done the right thing. Slumping onto the sofa in aggrieved tiredness she sat for a moment hoping to drift off into somewhere beyond this room, heaven possibly, if God would accept her. Spying the mini bar acting as TV stand Connie rose to her feet and slowly moved towards it, emptying the various bottles of alcoholic escapisms into her arms, seething in the coolness of the bottles as they tortured her skin. Arranging them on the sofa she carefully lined them up, placing them in alphabetical order, more by way of the shape of the bottle than anything else. It reminded her of when she was little, playing with Daddy's no go bottles always kept her amused, she never touched the liquor inside, Daddy got mad if she did that. But playing with the remaining bottles gave her a rush enough.

Sidelining herself with memories Connie refocused on the task in hand, downing enough alcohol to make her pass out and into an abyss that would prevent her from facing her attacker in a few hours time. She lifted the tiny bottle of archers, letting it slip easily over her lips and down her throat, matching the burning on her skin nicely. Feeling the release as it hit her stomach she whizzed her hands round the second bottle in line, downing it and replacing the bottle to its ordered little line. Two, three, four, five followed in quick succession, before she had time to breathe, having not eaten since the flight home it rushed quickly into her veins pulsating up to her head. It felt good though, too good, she bottomed number six and seven with only the faintest of a hiccup, yet enough to make Ric stir, she'd forgotten she wasn't alone at home, picking away at the remains of Michael's extensive drinks cabinet with no one but the ghosts of Christmas past to keep her company.

It wasn't until Ric had reached the sofa, removing the few bottles that remained unopened, replacing them to the mini bar before sitting forcefully down on the sofa beside her. "Are you going to tell me what that is all about?" He asked her thoughtfully, hoping for no more than a grunt in response, on top her actions the previous night being totally drunk wasn't a good combination.

"I…I can't face him," she sniffed, happily revealing the tragic drunk that she'd mutated into.

"You won't be alone Connie, I'll be there every step of the way," Ric cajoled lightly, putting his arms around her as she let out an uncontrollable howl creating a well of tears on his chest.

"I can't do it, end of," Connie protested, immediately removing herself from his hug and shifting towards the opposite end of the sofa, toying with the bunching material of her night gown.

"Is that what last night was about," Ric stated coherently, unsure of how it she was processing it since all she did was sob even louder.

"Sort of," She shrugged eventually, bringing her legs up towards her chest and cradling her knees gently, anyone knew this stance spoke the volumes words were too hard to speak of, He mimicked her position merely so he could face her clouded gaze more easily.

"Anything you want to share with me? You really scared me last night Connie," Ric admitted finding himself shed his own tear, for such a proud man it shocked him to realise just how much someone else could bore into him, make him feel so attached yet completely free at the same time, give him space when he needed it, yet choke him to tears in the next. Make love to him like no one else had ever done yet need so much attention in return, not that he grudged any of this on her.

"I did the same to Michael," she commented passively, finding more interest in her bandage, still fingering the sealed edges neatly, she could feel Ric's gaze tower over as she did so, leaving her to not bother going any further.

"What do you mean?" Ric responded, gently inviting her to open up more, wondering if it would be any easier considering her current condition.

"After I lost Georgia, I did this," she nodded towards her arm, falling incandescently silent, letting her gaze drop to the floor, her roller coaster ride was worsening with each hour, relatively flat then bumpy the next, unpredictable.

"Why?" Ric replied, stupidly, she'd been a grieving mother, it didn't need a question to ask it, but catching her gaze he noticed she was preparing a response, thinking carefully about it.

"Because I had to watch my daughter, someone I thought I never could have loved as much as I had done, struggle to keep fighting. Two month's Ric. Two months of sitting in an overly bright room gazing through a plastic box at something that weighed less than a bag of sugar experiencing a multitude of pain as she was poked and prodded by things as doctors we see as by the wayside, I had to hold her tiny little hand as she silently screamed in agony. All for her to give up; catch some indescribable infection that makes me wince to this day."

"Connie, you didn't need to do that, you could have talked to someone," Ric trailed off as she shook her head vehemently, gazing back down to the floor, it was a game of looks to them, both slowly battering the pink elephant stuffed right between them.

"Michael was useless, the whole thing, the traumatic birth, the post natal depression I suffered, everything was just a mistake that resulted in his precious trophy wife becoming even more fucked up than she ever had been, emotionally and physically," sighing Connie moved back towards Ric, immediately finding solace in his arms, cradling her wracked body with the gentleness of a giant.

"What did he do exactly," Ric asked softly, her hair smelt as it always did, soft and of painstaking vulnerability, he couldn't explain it to anyone but himself.

"He resented the doctors who cut me open AND scarred me for life. He resented me for being stupid enough to get pregnant in the first place. Worst of all he blamed Georgia. He was her father and he resented her existence"

"But Michael was your husband, it was his job to make it all ok for you, to help you," Ric protested, disgusted that he and Michael were from the same species, never in his bringing up had he been taught to reject a lover or anyone he was remotely involved with, Michael had clearly had other ideas, it was little wonder that she'd turned to self harming if he wasn't able, didn't want to give her the time of day to talk about it. He'd sat as an outsider looking in on Jess' pain after loosing Paris and it had been awful, he was sure it had been the tip of a deep iceberg for Connie. Jess had been lucky, she'd revelled in her son for a few months, enjoyed the smiles and happy times, Connie hadn't seen her daughter smile through the excess of tubes.

"The only time Michael was ever remotely there for me was on her last day, during the moment when we had to decide to turn off her life support, when we had all of an hour to hold her whilst she still had breath in her body, after that he did the worlds greatest escaping act," Connie whispered feeling the beginnings of a headache pound into her troubled mind.

"But you never come across as someone who's been through something like that," Ric stated clumsily, he stuck by his point, to the untrained eye she was a strong, power driven woman who used everyone and anyone to get where she wanted to be, ruthless to the end.

Smiling slightly at his reaction Connie precluded " I knew deep down Michael loved me though, that he was hurting just as much as me, it was love which got us through. What makes the rape worse was that I knew Michael and I had fallen out of love, Ric, I knew it was you that I loved at that moment in time, having him come scrape me up from the hospital was horrendous, its why I've taken it so hard I guess, not having you there right after made me doubt everything I'd ever known,"

Ric sat speechless for a moment, in her own slightly intoxicated was Connie had just admitted she loved him, "Connie, I don't know what to say," he whispered eventually, tightening his grip on her shoulders, letting his masculine hand sooth her tear stained face, kissing away her tears.

"You don't need to say anything at all, just being here is enough, putting up with my shit is enough Ric, you've done more for me than anyone has ever done before," She told him in a moment of complete lucidity, she let a smile cross her face as he rested his chin on her face, his hand protectively on her face, letting her know it was always going to be ok, as long as he was by her side and visa versa. Wrong's put to right.


	6. Mr Brightside

Ric let a kiss drop onto Connie's lips as he began to raise her from a contented slumber, moving back as she shook her head from a misty dream. "What time is it?" she grumbled sitting up in bed as he slipped in beside her, taking her hand he held it under the covers, hiding it from everyone else but her, she bit her lip to prevent the smile from crossing her face, it felt right to attempt to hide things like this from the other, it kept the game vibrant. She wasn't entirely sure what all she'd admitted to Ric during the previous night, but she was sure of one thing, that she'd told him she loved him, she felt the same right now, in this moment. Ric had evidently understood that she had meant it from the bottom of her heart.

"I meant what I said last night," Connie told him, somehow clicking back into the equilibrium she'd so often maintained in the past. She felt the squeeze on her hand tighten slightly as Ric looked her up and down, the damage she'd enforced on her body the night before had subsided somewhat, her skin was only marginally red and the dressing looked only slightly dog eared from her rough nights sleep.

Sitting in amicable silence for what seemed only seconds, Ric reached his free arm round her, cradling her lightly, he wasn't wanting to be the one to rock the boat, but they both knew deep down that today was going to come, drag out and leave slowly by clouded starry night skies. "Perhaps we should get breakfast," Ric asked tentatively, letting his grip release on her shoulders as she slipped away from him, nodding feebly.

He watched her slowly tip toe across to the wardrobe, picking out the one suit she'd taken on holiday, pondering over which colour of top went best, all things considered she plonks for the white one, laying them out on the bed she quickly returns for her underwear. She lifts the soft black lacy bra and matching thong from the drawer he carefully put them in the night before. Stalking back over she plonks herself on the bed removing her nightdress with detailed care and attention. "Want a hand," he asks, softly lifting her bra up both arms, it reminds him of times as a dad, helping a two year old dress himself, she is like that; vulnerable. He hears her stifled a minute gasp as he lets the clasp fall into place, sorting out a twist in the straps as he does so, his arms gently yet purposefully turn her round so she is facing him, it's like having sex in reverse, yet loosing none of the love. He lifts up the thong, teasing it up her legs, missing the parts she's still hurting from, he smiles before he kisses it in place, silently telling her all will be ok. He lifts the shirt out of its neat folds; opening the buttons and slipping the cool, iridescently damp cotton over her arms, admiring it as it falls diligently onto her curves, each button making it look even more exacting. The trousers slip on just as easily, its something he admires about her; the respect she has for her body. The zip does up just so, perfectly finishing the entire outfit.

"Thank you," Connie smiled as Ric rushed to catch up with her ready state, they make quite a couple, she in her power suit, he in his black suit, dark glasses to match, he wraps his arms around her before she put her delicate feet into power heels, savouring the last of her true vulnerability.

Connie strutted down the length of the corridor, tapping her foot impatiently as they waited for the lift; it wasn't so out of irritation so much as nerves. Following her Ric could clearly tell she was nervous, her shoulder's hunched, her eyes gazing towards the vibrant carpet, not something someone who was as hung over as she was would do. He let his hands rest on her shoulders as the churning of the lift flooded the still corridor, "it will be ok today Connie," Ric smiled, letting his hands loosen the knots in her shoulders.

"Will it?" Connie retorted, doubting even her own convictions, storming into the lift and pushing the button repetitively, not caring the doors nearly closed on Ric. She lent her back against the wall, letting a heavy sigh trail off her lips, her lost eyes crossed his worried one's fighting a battle somewhere mid way.

"Yes it will Connie, he's in the wrong, not you. You are only there for the formalities," Ric replied, tempering her acid hot presence with difficult ease. They walked aside each other in stone cold silence, the bustling lobby seemed to come to a standstill as they crossed the marble topped floor, her heels sending tiny fracturing earthquakes in every direction.

The taxi journey was silent, stone cold silence, Ric wasn't going to tempt fate by making idol conversation now, he would either be fired one of her well known glares or she would mutter two words to the tune of duck off. Neither of which he wanted to receive. The car ground to a halt sooner than either of them had expected, passing money through the hatch Connie took her time getting out, unsure of whether it would delay the inevitable or drag it out further. Walking up to the entrance Connie groaned in mild irritation as she spotted Michael coming at pace towards them. "I'm so sorry about this," she mumbled in Ric's direction before he'd realised what was happening.

"He has a right to be here," Ric responded, only slightly irritated by the appearance of his foe. They hadn't seen each other since his return to Holby, since the time he and Connie had kissed on the platform, since he'd felt utterly ashamed.

Stopping right in front of his wife Michael dragged her into a forced hug, maintaining the worst possible public image, grabbing her shoulders with mild force he smiled passively at Ric, "I've been worried sick about you, where did you go? What happened?"

Smiling politely in return, Connie let her hand affectionately rub his arms, she may not feel any passion toward him, but they'd been best friends since forever. "Don't worry about that now, shall we," Connie nodded in the general direction of the courthouse, striding in front, clearly vetoing the get it over with option.

"Has she been ok?" Michael asked Ric with the slight intone of worry as the two gentlemen made their way up the stone steps, making haste into the building so as to not loose sight of Connie.

"As well as she could have been," Ric shrugged, he neither wanted to deposit her self harming issues on him now, focusing on the task was what they needed to do. Finding the correct court Michael shuffled onto a wooden bench just outside, taking her hand without jest and squeezing it tightly.

"Everything's going to be ok," he smiled falsely, sending Ric off in the direction of a seat in the corner, attempting to break them up now would only end up in some sort of defacing debacle which he was quite happy to avoid.

It was almost dusk when the three professionals made their way down the steps, Connie huddling in the coat she'd brought, Ric and Michael braving the chilly wind. As they came to the taxi's queuing up to ferry both victims and offenders away from court they came to a standstill, Connie leaning more towards Ric than Michael, making it nothing more than a non verbal queue for Michael to take the high road.

"So what now?" Ric asked eventually, taking his time to glace between husband and wife stood facing one another, Connie bit her lip in careful consideration, torn between the lover and husband, it wasn't fair on her.

"My stuff is at the hotel Michael, I'll come home in a few days, and I need time to think," Connie smiled weakly as Michael's face dropped like a lead balloon, snaking down into a sad frown, lifting herself onto her toes she kissed his cheek with the gentlest touch before concentrating more on Ric, "I'll be home in two days at the latest I promise," she continued, mid way into a backward glance.

"So where too now," Ric smiled as they turned the corner and left Michael far out of sight, the broken pavement the only rip in their path.

"I fancy going for an incredibly hot curry," Connie smirked, trailing her sentence off, mindlessly telling him the rest of the night's plans and activities. It followed, a curry, enough alcohol to quell the sting in the mouth, or at least hope for the desired effect, to then collapse in bed without a memory of what happened.

"Ok then," Ric agreed, placing his hand round her waist, gently squeezing the warmth back into it, enjoying the feeling of her head scrape against his chest as they continued their way to the local curry house.

Several eventful hours later, Ric laid Connie's slightly inebriated body down on the bed, listening to her muffled breathing. Sitting on the bed next to her he slowly took off each shoe, going as carefully as he could possibly manage, not wanting to disturb her erratic sleeping. It took some task to get her jacket off, followed swiftly by her top, he was convinced he saw smiles of pleasure drift onto her lips like boat dreams, going with the rhythm of her body he took to undoing the clasp on her trousers, something to the tune of "that felt good" tripped out of her mouth, drifting down her leg, like a cat purring in earnest of her prey. He lifted her legs up one at a time, letting the pressed material drape of the bed and onto the floor, finding an irresistible position on the carpet, his attentions turned back towards her now near on naked form, the only items remaining the black bra and matching thong, it felt crisp to the touch as he shuffled her further up the bed.

"Don't stop on my account," she purred, slightly slurring her accent as he lifted back the covers, he pondered her comment for a moment, dismissing it as a stupid drunk request. When he saw her eye glint at him, he reconsidered, someone who was as drunk as she appeared would be completely unable to contain such soulful meaning to a look. He let his hands work round to the clasp on her bra, undoing it in complete opposite to what he'd done that very morning, he left the bra in place as much as he could physically let himself, snaking his hands back over her cool skin, sending her nerves to spasm. He lifted each loosened strap up, one at a time, letting his breath tickle her senses even more, the utter confusion driving her to melting point. He got a full look of them eventually, it sends him to pleasure, they lie their perfectly, erect, to attention, like soldiers waiting for deployment, ready for battle, waiting for the adrenaline rush, the kick. His lips fell on them like a tiny bomb, encasing them in fury, excitement, thrill, erotic spasm. She gasped as he flicked his damp, wet tongue over them, hardening them, nibbling them, letting the return flaccid, then repeating it, all to a rhythm, like the beat of a drum, the drum's he'd hear in his mind, from his childhood. He had yet to straddle her, he did it with utter care, the graze of skin on skin making them both recoil in mischief, as he grazed her further he could feel himself harden, her hands grasping him in one swift movement, he hadn't even gone the whole way. Her thumb drifted back and forth with ease, the grip still remaining strong, his only response to groan, letting the single toned moan go in slow easy releases, trailing up to her ears, acting as a catalyst to her toying. Growing tired of working Connie let go, letting him sit their in space, as if defying every gravity law ever written, "my turn," he smirked, revelling in her moan as he let himself in, turning his key in her lock, eagerly watching her hands wretch at the bed clothes in an attempt to stop herself sliding away, finding the feeling so intense that withdrawing would kill the fizz, yet enjoying it for the knowledge it would be a long time till the next countenance, like lovers about to set sail into foreign waters; apart. She was fast heading for the vortex, feeling the swirling motion carry her away to the castaway island of contentment, the motion of her body being laid to rest on soft golden sands, relaxing into its comforting heat, opening her eyes only to realise it was Ric's body she was lying on, her body gracing his like a dancer, light to the touch yet eternally graceful, magical to watch at anytime of the day, in any state of mind, a trophy to love honour and treasure.


	7. Just A Ride

They stood staring at one another in the bright winter sunlight that dazed on the quiet London suburb. Beside them were respective suitcases, in their arms nothing but the yearning to be together. Ric smiled as Connie walked the two short paces to allow their feet to barely graze together. "I'll miss you," she smiled, lifting herself onto tiptoes so as to hug him. Ric caught her and used his strength to keep her upright for what only felt like a second, they knew this departure was going to be sweet goodbye, they knew that Connie had to go and settle things up with Michael and try to move on without Ric's support since he too had issues to sort out; back in Holby.

"You know that my door is always open in Holby, anytime of the day or night," he replied, gently brushing his lips on hers, it wasn't anything passionate or overwhelming, just a simple kiss that would tide them over till the next time.

"I know, I know but I owe Michael some time, if only to build up my loathing for him," Connie smiled, rubbing his arms affectionately.

"Yes, I understand, just don't leave it too long before getting in contact please, otherwise I definitely will worry, you understand," Ric sighed, shrugging his coat further up his folded arm.

"Of course, and the same goes for you, I don't want any news of you doing anything stupid or tormenting anyone, Zubin included,"

"But," Ric trailed off as she placed a finger to his lips, it reminded him of their antics the previous night, the many nights they'd spent in Nice, living in each other's pocket was blissfully perfect for a while but they both knew the separation would ultimately do them the world of good. As she gathered her belongs together Ric inwardly groaned at having to leave her, listening for the sharp footfall of her heels clicking on the uneven pavement, the way her backside moved in unison, her back perfectly positioned, another reminder of her dancing as a child. It wasn't until she was about to reach the corner and disappear from his sight that she turned around, smiling and winking at him. He smiled in return, waiting for any trace of her to go before making his own way up the opposite end of the street. It reminded him somewhat of the feeling he'd experienced as a boy, leaving friends after a long school trip, having got to know them so well, their routines merging with his. He missed her.

Connie stepped over the threshold of her somewhat alien home moments later, stuffing her coat, bag and keys on the side table in the hall, leaving the suitcase derelict in her wake. As she leant on the mule post to take her shoes off she heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, changing in register as they crossed from slate to carpet. "Welcome home sweetheart," Michael smiled as she moved over to him, lethargically letting her hands run over his back as he placed his head gently on her head, drinking in the familiar smell of her hair; the heady mix of her perfume.

They remained silent as he prepared her a strong coffee, the sunlight still dancing through the skylight of the kitchen; it crossed her path as she watched him work from the comfort of the sofa. She knew he would end up treating her like a princess for all of about a day, it worked the same way every time she came home, be it from a rift in the bedroom department, a personal secretary or her own inability to talk about issues affecting her. He would make her tea, they'd talk, go for a walk or pig out in front of a soppy movie, go upstairs make an odd reverently passionate love, sleep and wake up the next day, sinking immediately into the same old routine that caused the problems in the first place.

"How are you then?" he smiled, placing the cup of coffee in front of her before plonking himself down on the arm chair across from her, his feet rising up onto the low table, tapping to the soft music filling the background.

"Fine thank you," Connie replied politely, sinking her gaze into the hot tan liquid swirling before her. Placing the mug back to the table she brought her legs underneath her, sitting the mug back on her knee, balancing it gently as she engrossed herself in the music.

"I missed you," Michael told her eventually, flicking his wayward hair out of the way, bringing his gaze on to her eyes he could she the momentary glint and smile playing on her face, followed by the subtle blush. "Where did you go? What happened?" he continued, wanting to find out where he'd gone wrong this time, with each flit of her emotions he was left wondering what he'd done, what he'd said. In most cases it was obvious, the latest blonde to cross his dick or the latest idea to send her to boiling point, something he'd admit to few turned him on immensely.

"It was the anniversary of Will's death," she sighed, lifting the mug to her lips, savouring the taste before carrying on, "Ric was there, at the cemetery, visiting his grandson," she paused, releasing the information nugget by nugget so he would fully understand what was going on, without having to ask her to repeat herself. "We went back to his flat and talked for a while, he'd been so confused by my actions at Christmas, I couldn't explain it myself," She shot him a wary glance as he screwed his face up at the idea of someone else having his wife as only he should, "nothing happened there Michael so don't beat yourself up about it," she tutted, shifting her position on the sofa before going on, it was the first time she felt guilty about her trip to Nice, the fist time she'd felt anything other than pleasure from being with Ric. "I decided the two of us could do with a bit of cheering up somewhere away from all our troubles,"

"Where did you go?" Michael cut in, eager to find out where exactly his wife had been dallying.

"Nice, I took use of that boat your mother gave us for our wedding, we've never made nearly enough good use of it," she smirked, savouring the photograph she'd encrypted on her mind, of her and Ric both sunbathing naked on the deck of the luxury yacht, of the massage oil he'd packed coming into good use, of the way she'd relaxed with the gentle sway of the boat removing any trace of stress from her body.

"You do look rather too brown for having spent a few weeks in the depths of England," Michael mused, placing the empty mug to the table, leaving his hands free to support his head, it had been somewhat surprising to him that he'd been unable to sleep as well as normal since Connie had left, whether it had been waking up an empty bed or wondering where the hell she'd taken herself to he wasn't sure.

"I'll take that as a compliment shall I," Connie smiled, bowing her eyes as his nodding head paid her another compliment, "anyway you know the rest, when we got back I got your call and well, Ric insisted on sticking around to support me," her voice was unequivocal as he nodded again, not even he could deny that an extra helping hand was wrong.

"Well you're home now which is what matters," he smiled, carefully watching her as she sat clearly thinking as her eyes darted all round the room, making her way to meaningful statement that would impress on him for a lifetime.

"I must owe you an apology though, I should of let you know what was happening,"

"There was no need, Connie I understand, you've been going through hell these past months," he cajoled, giving her the trusted wink to let her know that everything would be fine.

"It doesn't mean I've got the God given right to treat you like s h I t though. Please understand that you've been a priceless tower of support," she trailed off, getting up off the sofa, she wasn't quite sure as to why she suddenly felt attracted to Michael, why she felt the need to apologise for getting over the rape and why she had to show her love for him, but she did, she was about to make a decision that would alter her approach to life.

Michael stood up in the same heartbeat, letting her fall into his arms, this time much more enthusiastically, her arms encasing him in a reassuringly tight squeeze, making him fizzle up with a warmth long since gone as her fire of life had extinguished itself, soaked by the shower of disgust all those month ago, taking another beating the day before, yet she seemed to be coping with it all. She finished the hug with a kiss, pressing her lips into his, twisting them into a contort of love.

As they moved back from one another he took her hand, twirling her round like a dainty ballerina, reacquainting his eyes to her body, "do you fancy something to eat?" he asked as she came to a standstill, leaning her back on the breakfast bar.

"Why not?" she smiled, walking over to the fridge to consult what he'd actually managed to buy in. Amazed she lifted the small mound of steak and various vegetables onto the work surface, removing the griddle pan from the rack and setting it to heat on the stove. Michael moved round to join her, lifting the chopping board and setting to work, carefully watching her move mischievously around the kitchen, reminding him of when they were newly wed, childishly making food for one another on the rare occasion they'd been off together, the precursor to love making he hoped. As she forcefully flung the meat on the pan he watched her tap it down, fiddling with the tongs in a manner he could only describe as a turn on, the way she flicked her hair out of her eyes with a coy smile, glint of the eye and gentle side step to distance herself from him.

It didn't take long for the shards of meat to grace the plate, sidelined by a pile of lightly steamed vegetables. Both proud of their creation they lifted the plate to the table, sitting across from one another. As he started into his food Michael watched her lift her sleeves out of the way, revealing a crepe bandage covering a fair proportion of her forearm, he gazed at it for a while, and unsure of how she'd managed to come by it. " When did that happen?" he asked before rinsing his mouth with a generous sip of red wine.

"Oh it's nothing, don't worry about it," Connie fumbled, removing the arm from his gaze, hoping to see the back of the issue. Wrong.

"Connie you must remember how you did it," he persisted, watching as the fullness of happiness drained from her eyes, cutting her down to a lost nothingness.

"I did it on holiday, out on the rocks, y'know what it's like," She lied, having never been very good at it she paused while Michael lifted her arm onto the table, surveying the bandage with his thumb, letting his finger run the length of it before saying anything.

"Connie, you and I both know that's not the truth, please I can handle anything," he told her, yearning over the half hour of pleasure they'd wallowed in.

"It just sort of, well, it happened when I got back, when I heard about y'know," Connie trailed off as an overwhelming guilt crossed her eyes. Michael had been left to deal with the pieces after they'd lost their daughter, her face bore the same expression: loss.

"Oh Connie, why didn't you say anything sooner," Michael whispered, dropping blobs of worry and care into ever word he uttered.

"Because it shows a weakness, Michael, it's my way of coping, just leave it ok," as soon as she finished Connie rose from the table striding out of the room and up the stairs, slamming the guest room door closed behind her, she knew the box they'd savoured from Georgia was there; the box that contained enough memories to drown her into a heady night's sleep.


	8. Mother

As he slowly tiptoed into the room he took in the devastating sight before him, she was sat cross legged on the floor surrounded by various objects, a pink antique rattle, a tiny pink baby grow, a purple blanket, an ornate christening gown, taken in at the sides so it resembled that of dolls, several photos, some of just Connie, some of her and Georgia, one of the three of them, sat together, Georgia in his arms whilst he sat on the rocking chair, Connie stood behind them, dressed in a pretty skirt and top; it'd been the day of her christening, the only day they saw their daughter as just that, a tiny perfectly formed human being.

He stood, giving her space to acknowledge his presence; she had tears streaming down her face as he cautiously moved towards the pile, taking some of the finer details in, the ink print of a tiny foot, the hospital badge as small as his finger, the soft toy that he'd given her on the day of her birth; it brought back memories.

"Connie, I… I'm sorry about earlier," Michael stifled, plonking himself down on the soft blonde carpet, letting his hand trail into her free one propping her up. HE let his fingers intertwine and snake between hers her skin as puffy as the day he'd had to tell her about their little girl, the way she'd damn near pulled herself out of the bed only hours after nearly loosing her life. He felt her sadness seep through his skin, hitting him like a blow, winding him of air silently.

"Do, do you still think about her," Connie sobbed moments later, dragging her hand away from Michaels as she picked up the soft baby grow, her finger tracing the gentle gingham details. Pressing it to her cheek she savoured the way it absorbed her tears, kissing them to some peaceful abyss.

"Occasionally," Michael admitted, though when he did choose to dwell on it he felt more hurt over nearly losing her, than loosing the baby. What had caused him the most pain had been the overwhelming sadness she'd felt when Georgia had died; they way he'd spent all night holding her in his office at work whilst she cried her eyes out. How she'd been distinctly unable to mutter any word of consolation to him, he'd spent so long with her he'd convinced himself her tears had broken his heart.

"It sounds clichéd but I think about her every day, Michael. Is that wrong?" she was beginning to sound like the child who was about to enter school for the first day, not wanting to let go of mummy's hand yet wanting to play with the other children, asking whether the big boys would hurt them, whether mummy was allowed into the classroom. Georgia would have been just past that age by now, and Connie knew it. The little girl she'd risked life and limb for the previous Christmas had brought all her maternal instincts to heart, she'd been somewhat surprised at them coming back, the day the tiny white coffin had his the earth she'd convinced herself they'd been buried with it.

"No it's not Connie, you were her mum, the person who cared for her every night and day she graced this earth. You made a perfect mummy," Michael replied, smiled contentedly as he stared towards the picture of Connie holding the tiny pink and white bundle with such immense care, the trail of wires poking from the edge a sore reminder of what had limited her obvious caring talent.

"We could have been great together?" Connie mused, letting the soft tingle of the rattle trill out in the silence that set an ache into both their hearts, his silence was obvious, she knew family had never been on his cards, if she were brutally honest she hadn't planned on it either. Yet seeing that tiny baby, with her big dark eyes had pulled on her soul in some angelic way, filling the moral fibre only a mother possesses, giving her the nouse to worry at the slightest yelp or jolt of pain.

"We still are, aren't we?" Michael counted, slipping the rattle out of her hand, bringing her in close for a hug, she sitting in front of him, cuddled by his arms and legs, protecting her as she cried.

"You tell me Michael," she sighed eventually, growing tired of his overwhelming ability to care for that moment, for knowing when to give her that hug. But as she drew away of him she swallowed herself up in guilt, something inside her spoke in volumes beyond a shout that she'd caused him more than enough hurt after Georgia, after the funeral, the time she spent moping around at home, on her own, lost in a time zone. What hurt the most was seeing his face when he'd come home on that first night, the way he'd slung his suit over the banister on the stair, expecting her to be cooking the supper, the way he'd gone to investigate their room when she wasn't there. The way he'd found her in a crumpled heap on the floor of their bathroom, her arm outstretched showing the pronounced cut oozing all manifestations of blood, fresh stuff still bright as the moment it left her broken heart, older stuff forming the first defence of a wound, the brittle red edges of a scab setting into place.

"No not really, Connie, what's up? I mean really?" Michael retorted, seeing the mess she'd become before him, how downbeat she appeared, her hair ruffled, her skin loose to the touch from having lost so much weight. In certain aspects she looked like the shadow of her former self, but not this one. He could feel his voice pity her, something he'd swore would never happen in their relationship, it showed weakness, some kind of inability to keep her on a level par. Make her something less than him, a moral he'd been instilled with from birth.

"Good question," Connie stated evasively, making a move to clear up the precious object's she'd been obsessing over, carefully lifting each back to the box, layered with tissue paper to protect it from the inevitable aging process. The photo's were placed on the very top, arranged just so before she put the lid back on, her footsteps were silent as she manoeuvred the box back into it's place at the top of the cupboard, nestled between her summer wardrobe and his woolly jumpers, metaphorically protected from the big bad world by two tower's of strength, mummy and daddy. "I can't keep it together," she shrugged, sitting back down on the floor as he mimicked her, slightly better off knowing Georgia had gone back to the cupboard where she belong by his means.

"It's only natural," Michael replied gently, slightly perturbed by her recoil at his statement, the way she drew her legs up to her chest, sinking into her sedate comfy shell with incredible ease and familiarity.

"I wish people would stop telling me that though. It's not. I'm a complete mess; not the person I was. I'm not going to be that person ever again. There's no point to life is there?" She spat, showing the deep hatred she held for herself, the way she couldn't see any light to her life. Unable to see the way she could love, the way she could, work, socialise.

"Yes there is Connie; you've got me, work, our life together," Michael tutted, unsure of how to cope with the mess displayed before him. He didn't much fancy the thought of children, but the idea may well have put light to the end of her mournful tunnel.

"But it doesn't seem enough somehow, I've got no focus," she shrugged, fiddling awkwardly with the material of her trousers, fixating her gaze on it far too much.

"Then go back to work, it'll give you something to do," Michael suggested positively, happy to find something that he was so passionate about. He'd purposely kept a locum on in her job, hoping with all hope that she would decide to return; even the slightest glimmer of doing so would make his selfish efforts worthwhile.

"My heart isn't in it though Michael, you know that's what keeps me in work, the passion," Connie protested, remaining completely rigid in her stance, brushing her head against each knee to wipe away the residual salty tears that continued to batter her worn face.

"I know you'll find it again; it takes time. Why not try a morning tomorrow? I'll be there every step of the way," Michael continued, gently placing his hand on top of hers, giving it the softest squeeze as if to seal his proposition set in stone. "Please, for me," his last words provoked nothing more than a muffled sob and a mute nod of the head.

"But don't force me anymore, please, Michael," she whispered, releasing her arms so he could bring her into a proper cuddle, he let his arms slip around her shoulders, bringing her in close, feeling every mutation on her bone, sliding down her arms he clasped her hand in his, fiddling with the ring in an affectionate way.


	9. April Come She Will

The day had gone well all things considered. Connie had risen without a grumble after a fitful night's rest. The recoil of her outburst clear on her sunken face as she'd readied herself for "the big return" as Michael kept reminding her. She'd eventually decided upon the power suit that had won her the job in Holby. The one she wore on days when she felt vulnerable, able to hide under its pretence of confidence. They'd made a change from normal, if such a thing existed, and taken the car to work. Michael had spent the entire journey pensively watch her glare out the window as he drove. It wasn't the most pleasurable atmosphere to be in, but then again, going back to work was a big mountain for Connie to climb and doing it now was the only way to go about things. Any longer at home and her equilibrium was going to be tipped permanently.

She'd immediately immersed herself in work; they'd received a new patient that day, a young girl, misplaced from Paediatrics due to all the building work Michael had heralded. Connie hadn't wanted anything quite so heavy on her first day; a simple valve replacement or a heart attack case would have been perfect. But then again nothing ever went to plan in the NHS did it? Michael had been kept to busy to check on her during the morning, he knew that once she'd met the patient, engrossed herself in the case the distraction to do anything remotely stupid would dissipate. Or at least that was the theory. By lunchtime he'd chaired three disciplinary cases, written out a speech for a press conference and stared out the window in boredom as much as he possibly could. Attempting to find her had proved more difficult than he'd expected. She'd gone down to theatre to attempt the impossible and save the girl who was minutes away from dying anyway. Resisting the idea of trying to assist her as he'd occasionally do, he'd returned to the latest financial memo he'd received from the DOH.

Despite her best efforts Connie hadn't been able to save the girl and breaking the news to her parents had been happily passed onto her registrar's. Facing patients, operating on them and acting their emotionless doctor she could do. Telling anxious parents their only daughter, who'd been running around the day before, was dead she could not. The ward had gone into something or a down turn whilst she'd not been there. Michael had kept up the pretence that she'd merely been on some urgent research work in America. The ward had continued to move along though. Things changing, like normal, what concerned her was the lack of progress the locum consultant had made. The pile of work sitting on her desk would keep her content for a month at least and though not life threatening her pristine office was gathering a suspect layer of dust.

Clearing a space on her sofa Connie curled her legs underneath her as she glanced over the first of many reports she was supposed to have checked. None of the information was going in, the drink in her hand allowing her mind to wander. Fearing that the recurring images of her attack would swamp her weary mind Connie was somewhat pleased to see Ric sitting beside her as they made use of the sprawling back yard she and Michael had only dreamed over. He was lying there semi naked as she indulged in the sun raining down on them. They'd drunk a little too much champagne, spent too much time eating strawberries, and barely glanced at the newspapers. The hazy day had sent her into a contented sleep on the rug; Ric's arms protecting her from any harm. The memory moved forward a few hours, to the shower that engorged their tanned bodies, the way they'd made love in the cool bedroom, concentrating hard enough Connie could hear the soft chirp of birds at the open window. That night had been perfect.

"Mrs Beauchamp," came a voice that wasn't familiar to the dream, there had been no determined brunette sticking her nose in their business. Shaking her head Connie was met by a stunned looking face clutching various files, "Haven't you heard of knocking?" she sighed, shifting uneasily.

"Yes and you didn't answer, so I took the liberty of coming in," came the icy reply, she'd long forgotten the fling this particular riffraff had had with her husband; there had been more pressing issues.

"For all you know I could have been wrapped round my husband attempting to enjoy some privacy, wouldn't want to interrupt that now would we," Connie purred in response, fighting fire with fire was all that Miss Sherrard would respond to.

"Or you could have passed out in some sort of coma, it works both ways Mrs Beauchamp," the younger lady countered, pouting as she slammed the files down on the conference table, turning to face her boss, "you seemed a bit distracted today," the comment came out in an uncomfortable tone, she'd clearly been put up to this by some of the staff not brave enough to counter Connie.

"Well wouldn't you be if you'd returned to work after a long stint doing research with little patient contact," Connie scowled, aimlessly trying to keep the pretence up.

"Seemed like you were up to more than just research whilst you were away," Miss Sherrard retorted with equal falsities.

"Excuse me, what I do outside this hospital is my business," Connie replied with the feigning smile or discontent.

"Michael seemed a little too uncomfortable for you to just be doing a bit of work outside the hospital that's all," Connie glared at the woman as she spoke, at least it proved she had brains, she'd long since known that their façade wasn't fool proof, but in a busy setting such as the hospital it usually held up.

"If you must know Miss Sherrard," the disgust laced tone set the mood abundantly clear, "I was attacked at the tail end of last year, and so no I may not have been doing research, call it licking my well deserved wounds, call it being lazy, call it what you like, but you don't tend to get over rape that quickly do you?" Connie wasn't aware how incensed her voice had become until she paused for breath.

"Mrs Beauchamp I never knew, I…I'm sorry, Michael never mentioned anything,"

"Funny that, since I told him to say nothing," Connie sighed, "he's my husband, he's been bloody loyal to me since the attack and well being a little distracted at work comes with the bargain of a raped wife don't you think," the spite had been rising inside her all day, having not left the house that much since everything had happened Connie hadn't been around woman like her, enjoying the success of many years of hard graft at med school, wallowing in the looks men gave them, enjoying the idea of being a doctor, of living a life. Yet today she had been, it had been barely anything more than seven hours and she'd consumed the odd looks, the whispers, and the gossip about her being back. It had cooked itself into a nice piece of spitefully humble pie.

"Why don't you say anything about this? I mean you as a couple seem so professional, so together, so with it" Kate asked as the two woman found themselves sitting on the couch.

"Because after as many years in the NHS working all the hours we did and having no family you learn to fake it, playing with the big boys stings your soul somewhat," it was true though, if you didn't know the Beauchamp's as well as friends did you would mistake them for the happy couple who rose early in the morning to spend time with the kids before rushing into the bustling day and come home at night to a weary nanny busy with helping the kids do their homework. They'd spend the evening playing a board game, kiss their children goodnight, and get ready to do it again the next day. Wrong! Michael and Connie would get up early, go into work early, and stay until well past knocking off time. Go home, eat, slump in front of the television, and make love for the rest of the evening. "Look I'm sorry, it's been a big day for me, I've not been in here for months, and as you can see I've got plenty of work to be getting on with," Connie smiled as her mind focused again.

"Yes, yes, of course," Kate smiled as she stood up and left the room, brimming with gossip that would no doubt keep the mill on overdrive for a week, not that she minded, in fact it felt liberating, at least if they knew the truth it would save her from having to hide.

"Connie, darling, I think it's time you and I went home," Michael told her gently, she hadn't heard him creep in. Work still sat on her lap as she stretched in her seat. She wasn't entirely sure how long she'd been there, a couple of hours perhaps. Lifting the work onto the desk he sits down by her side, "I heard you told Kate," he smiled, though not met with a verbal response the nodding of her head said it all as she rested her head on his shoulder, more out of tiredness than anything else.

"No rest for the wicked then," he sighed as his arm snaked around her, they hadn't shared a moment like this in a while.

"Not really I better get going with all this work though," Connie replied, making a move to get out of his embrace.

"I don't think so Connie, you're not doing too much too soon," Michael replied sincerely as she rose to her feet, immediately slipping back into her heels that lay cast off on the ground.

"Fine, but I might suggest that the doctor tucks me in as well," Connie winked as she picked up her bag and coat…………..


	10. Last Laugh of the Laughter

Part 9 : Last Laugh of the Laughter

Connie had drummed herself so far into work over the past few weeks that when it came to having a day off it felt weird. Having been off for such a long time the idea of pottering around the house returned extremely quickly once she got used to it. Michael hadn't had the foresight to book the same day off as her so she had the house to herself; a blessing in disguise all things considered. Michael had been supportive, yes, but almost smothering in his attention to detail, she hadn't cooked dinner in weeks as he saw it fit for her to rest upon returning home.

She'd caught up on lost sleep that inevitably happened with shift work and had a long soak in the bath. Her attentions had then turned to bills and other debris that filled their study. Sifting through the various bills that needed paying she eventually reached the laptop previously buried away.

Opening her emails she ditched the junk that had somehow made it through the ether and was left with an empty inbox, the satisfaction of clearing it lasting a very little amount of time. She opens a new file and begins to type the address she knows all to well. Then her fingers start to pick up pace as she touch types the rest of the email, thanking whichever god it was that sent her on the seemingly pointless typing course.

_Dear Ric, _

_It's only just occurred to me just how long it's been since we spoke, you've not called me and I've not called you. I do have my reasons, you see the night that I came home Michael and I had a disagreement, yes I know you have your opinions on us but well we ended up discussing Georgia, and some lunatic inside me agreed to go back to work. I did you know, I made it through the doors and up to the ward and I think it's safe to say that I am back! Michaels being ever the supportive git, sometimes I just wish he'd give me reason to hate him, but he doesn't, I say it's only a matter of time till he grows tired of the caring partner routine. Each day seems to blur into one, it seems the same with work keeping things together, and I did make the right decision, didn't I? Anyway days don't matter, it's the nights that are more important to me, some are fine, I sleep perfectly well, but most are either filled with thoughts of this blasted trial that is hanging over me, the attack itself (though with everything that's happened this is no big surprise really) or us last summer, those are the best memories. The ones where I wake up in your arms in Nice, the ones where you and I are, pardon my bluntness, making use of that sofa again! But anyway enough of lowering the tone this email is basically to say that I am still alive, that I am coping fine and that speaking to you again would be lovely, just the small matter of my husband. _

_Love Connie xxx _

Hearing the satisfactory click as she sent the email Connie stood up and left the room. The rest of the afternoon was spent entertaining a trashy novel she'd picked up at the airport. Curled up on the sofa she felt remotely safe, it felt like being back home in the dusky suburbs of London and hiding under her quilt at night with a temperamental torch to light her book. The inevitable bout of sleep soon followed, as her eyes grew tired of the kitsch romance merrily sidling along each page.

It wasn't till the phone began to rattle in its cradle that Connie stirred, taking a moment to realise what had been going on. Picking up she began the formal greeting she's used for years, "Connie Beauchamp speaking…" her heart skipped a beat as Ric's voice began wafting down the phone, none of the sultry honey tone being lost over the connection.

"Con, it's Ric, I just got your email," Connie bit her lip as it attempted to unfurl into a smile. "You ok?" he continued, clearly munching on something.

"Yes, fine, I just fell asleep on the sofa," Connie rolled her eyes at the roof as she moved back to the sofa, slumping into a comfortable heap.

"Wish I could?" Ric admitted thoughtfully, kicking off his theatre shoes so he could fully stretch out.

"Busy day," Connie mused awkwardly, "so what have you been up to since you got back?" although awkward it made a logical progression. Face to face the pair could happily fall into friendly conversation, pausing for minutes at a time and then continuing but on the phone it was different, something wasn't right, something was missing.

"Work, though I think it's probably for the same reasons as you…" he trailed off with a light chuckle as she finished his sentence instantly.

"…Avoidance, yes you and I both, it only works till you get a day off," she smiled absentmindedly playing with the creases forming in her trousers.

"True, Jess is back though. I'm pretty sure she's sick of the sight of me," Ric smiled, resting his hand on the edge of the sofa, his heavy head lying pray on his muscles as he spoke.

"I assume she's doing ok, all things considered," Connie asked, remembering the short months before her departure when she'd helped him get over the grief of loosing another grandchild. All said and done his troubles had taken somewhat of a back burner.

"Yes, she's back at work and coping better than even Lola and I expected. It's you that's causing the most trouble though Connie," his last admission startled her slightly as she sat upright, taking to pace the floor as she mulled over something of an answer.

"Michaels making sure I stay on the straight and narrow," she told him eventually, feeling like the petulant teenager being warned about drinking, being out etc.

"And I'm glad to hear it but I won't believe it till I see it, you will tell me when the trial date is set won't you?" Ric asked pensively in response.

"Yes, yes of course I will," Connie replied as she made her way into the kitchen, filling the kettle as Ric sat silent on the other end.

"Listen I've got a full theatre list for the rest of the day so I better go but you will remember that my door is open regardless and I want to see you soon," Connie smiled as she mulled over his proposition, shaking to herself as she thought twice.

"Yes, you know I would say the same, small matter of my husband but anyway I'll call sooner next time," with that the line went dead and she turned the phone off, tapping the kitchen side as the kettle jilted vigorously.

Taking her tea into the living room Connie lifted the afternoon mail and sifted out the junk until she reached a slightly thicker envelope, the company name instantly recognisable. Everything else paled into insignificance as she ripped the seal viciously, scanning the title of the document.

Date for Trial: 26 May 2006 

The date, the date bore into her mind like a devil's trident, floating with angel's wings, one the one hand she was happy that for once she'd have proper closure on something and be able to move on good or bad, but on the flip side if she was unsuccessful she would have to live with the fact that the man, the animal would roam the streets again. Whether it was the thought of someone else having similar happen to someone else or not she couldn't tell but for several minutes, hours even she just sat. Looping in her mind was the past six months, the event's varying at different speeds, stopping at they key moments like when she faced him in court, his chin grey with stubble, his head cut close to his head, the tattoo of a snake slithering up his arm. His gruff voice, echoing in the background like a theme tune. "Give me your phone," "b I t c h," it made for a melancholy beat. Laced with the grace of an arrogant man, the icing was on the proverbial cake.

She read and re read the letter, memorising each fine detail, the court, the time, the place and the protocol. As she was about to fold the letter away and go upstairs when the door clicked open and Michael bundled through to the living room, carrying what seemed to be a Rigby and Peller bag. A smile criss crossed his face. "Good evening sweetheart,"

"Yes dear, good day at work?" Connie asked, trying to feign the smile the depicted her need for distraction.

"Yeah, board passed the new budgeting agreement, I've secured the department a big dose of extra funding so to celebrate I bought you something," Michael replied, proffering the gift to her. Smiling lightly Connie opened the bag, not the least bit surprised to find a black lacy bra and matching thong. He was predictable, anytime something good happened to him, he'd buy her underwear, jewellery, flowers; it depended on the occasion. He always had one aim in mind, for her to be so grateful that he'd be able to call the shots in bed that night, screw her like she would be dead tomorrow, think that she loved it when secretly she loathed the very idea. Playing along with it gave her an easy ride. Grant him praise where it was needed, this was the first time in months that he'd come home with such a present.

"Congratulations," Connie muttered dutifully, flopping back down onto the sofa.

"You had a good day too I take it," he smiled sitting down beside her, playing with his hands as he waited for a response, years of marriage together had taught him to notice when something wasn't quite right.

"Yes, well until that arrived," Connie motioned towards the letter folded neatly on the deep wood coffee table, a quick squint at it and Michael turned to her giving her a pitiful look. Looks controlled their relationship. Seeing his face fall like that made her physically sick, since she was little she'd always been level with men, never below them and she wasn't about to stop now. She motioned to stand up, stopped by his hand grabbing her and sitting her down again.

"This is great news Connie, surely?" The doubt poised in his voice made itself evidently clear as she shook her head in protest, being on the run for so long had made her barriers weak.

"No it's not really, means I have to face the b a s t a r d again, which is brilliant," Sarcasm laced every word she uttered in reply before getting up from the sofa and wrangling her hand away from his, "thank you for the present darling, but if you don't mind I think I'll pass tonight." Dealing the final blow she excused herself from the room and trundled upstairs to bed.

"S h I t," Michael cursed before slamming his hand on the arm of the sofa. All he f u c k I n g needed.


	11. Lullaby of Love

Part 11: _Lullaby for Love _

Nothing in Connie's life made sense anymore, unsure of whether she was coming or going had left part of her empty, not the yearning for a life once lived but for the turmoil she was careering through. It wasn't anything major that she felt was missing; well not unless you call a mutated character major. Dealing with change wasn't new to her; she'd been through worse but for some reason it felt like a corrosion of her soul. In that light she wasn't aware of logical reasoning behind her sudden trip to Holby. It may have been her imbecile of husband, it may have been denial, and it may have been a million and one different things. But she was sat on a bustling Friday night train regardless. Various businessmen sat with their disjointed noses stuffed in The Times, several students were sprawled uncomfortably listening to obscene music several notches too loud, shrugging she concentrated her gaze on the fading sun set. She'd brought very little with her, she wasn't intend on staying long. It all honesty all she needed was a little bit of reassurance.

As the train chugged into Holby Central station she feels comfortable, it's familiar, the taxi's are where they've always been, the words trip off her tongue with remarked ease "Holby City Hospital," nodding the driver sets off at a pace, she languished in the cracked leather sofa, her heels tapping lightly on the floor, not out of impatience, more anticipation.

She paid him with a generous tip and got out of the taxi, it's an educated guess that Ric's still at work, it had only been a matter of hours since they'd talked on the phone. She left her case with the receptionist, promising she wouldn't be anymore than a couple of hours. The lift ride felt like it had done for the two years she been working at Holby, each day coming up in the lift, cutting the outside world from her mind, instinctively she was doing the same right at this moment. Grounding to a halt the lift doors hissed open. It still looked similar, the linoleum chipped to hell, scuffed with heavy-duty rubber boots, the walls have a grey parlour, the posters curled at the edge, mutilated by the relatives, doctors, nurses, patients briskly walking past it's advert to give blood. Sticking her head round the door she sighs at the vacant seat, his office is still red though; the banner from Ghana explicitly displays his ancestry.

The nurses' station is still filled with the mass of paperwork and to be frankly honest, crap that no one ever has the time to tidy up. Vacant of nurses she is forced to wait, tapping her hand lightly on the nearest pile of folders. She gets impatient quickly as he doesn't appear with the influx of a new patient, but on closer observation it's a cardiac case, and the bumbling man in a set of green scrubs looks pleased with his work, he must be her replacement. He stops to greet her, "Can I help you?" His voice is comforting, but she doesn't get distracted.

"I'm looking for Ric Griffin, is he about," her voice is toneless; she's tired, slightly confused and uncomfortable at the lack of a familiar face.

"I couldn't tell you, are you a patient of his?" his question is feasible, it's a hospital after all, but she can't help but get slightly irritated.

"No, I'd hope not, I just really need to see him that's all," Connie trails off as Diane comes round the corner, looking equally a mess but she recognises the other doctor instantly. A smile broadens on her face.

"Connie," Diane asks as she takes in the changed woman, her presence much more slight than when she left, her hair dull in tone, her trousers hanging in a way that accentuates her hip bones. She keeps her smile bravely. There is something more knowledgeable in her gaze though, something that links them both. Something that they've been through, not together but she's got a good idea of what it is.

"Diane, lovely to see you again," Lie! But she continues, it was too hopeful to be able to reach the hospital, see Ric and leave with him, she's not entirely sure how much Ric's let on, hopefully nothing but expecting someone to not tell a soul about what's been happening to her is too rich a promise.

"Connie, as in Connie Beauchamp," the other man sighs, he looks bewildered, but then he did when she arrived, she's unsure of whether it's a permanent look or not.

"Yes, why, who's asking?" She questions irritably. He reaches forward to shake her hand; the smell of theatre is laced in every tendril of his attire. He smiles and then bumbles something along the lines of her name precedes her.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he response eventually, Connie probably would of cared more before but she spies her interest strolling up the ward, he is fiddling with his watch as he reaches the crowd of doctors, suddenly his frown breaks into a pleasurable smile as he spots her.

"Connie, you came," he states in astonishment she smiles and bows her head in return, seeing they are clearly party to the conversation Diane and Elliot drifted off, their busy day's over. Slowly walking to his office the couple stayed in complete silence, he wasn't sure why she'd suddenly appeared; he wasn't sure whether it was for a good or bad reason, he didn't care, just seeing her again had made him happy.

Closing the door felt like opening a venting chamber for Connie, Ric sat down at his desk ruffling through the papers that littered it, for whatever reason she'd come she had something to tell him, be it 'I'm getting back with Michael for proper,' 'I'm pregnant, again' or much though he dreaded it 'the date for the trial's been set.'

"He bought me a fucking thong, a fucking bra, he wanted fucking sex with me, Ric, what does that man run on," he's now completely confused, it would appear that she's come over 150 miles to tell him that her husband bought her lacy underwear, there must be more too it.

"Connie, why have you come here?" her brave bravado crumbles around him, he hints at the sadness in her eyes, her soul not entirely with her, yet she's not entirely without it. It's odd.

"After you hung up," she pauses, he nods, "I got a letter from my lawyers," he's slightly taken aback but continues his resilient look, "the case is up in a couple of weeks, Ric, they've set a court date and all my fucking husband can think of is sex," he smirks at her tone, it's amusing yet dead pan.

"Michael has his moments," he muses, the response is remarked, she looks at him laughing slightly before wiping the first tear away from her eye. He stands up and quickly shuffles his arms around her, she collapses into his embrace, sobbing in a dignified manner, the one thing he suspects Michael's never seen her do, outwardly cry. It's an unmistakable fault in their relationship.

"I don't think here's the best place to talk about this, gossips and all, you'll come back to mine," Ric tells her eventually, collecting the various debris that he needed, placing a gentle arm around her as they walked to the lift, several eyebrows raised as to who his new interest was.

Returning to his flat felt extremely good to Connie coupled with being round someone with her interests at heart it was the reassurance she'd needed desperately. Helping him with the cooking felt better still, being able to do something and not feel as bloody helpless as she had done in London. The sofa had never seemed so appealing; they soon polished off the pasta and wine he'd brought out especially.

"Is that better then?" He sighed, feeling over full from the meal, Connie snuggled in on his chest was keeping him somewhat more cosy that he'd been in an age.

"Yes," she nodded, lifting his hand in hers, squeezing it gently, letting her breath filter away slowly, "I'm sorry for barging in on you again," she sighed, suddenly awash with guilt, he'd probably had the perfect Friday evening planned; a bottle of wine, the TV, a sofa, perfection.

"It's ok, Connie really," Ric responded gently, happy to be with her again, knowing she was safe, all things considered she'd become somewhat of a child, worrying whenever she wasn't at his side.

"Honestly, I know a way I can make it up to you," Connie smiled, lifting out of his cuddle and striding forcefully towards the bathroom, in her previous visits she'd spied the bottle of massage oil sitting idle in the cabinet, after retrieving it she made a move to his bed, motioning him to come over, a coy smile toying with the corners of his lips, "top please Mr Griffin," she smirked taking the t-shirt and idly flinging it to the side. She waited as he lay on the bed, his torso flat to the bed. Slipping off her heels she leant over him, lifting the bottle open and pouring the oil on her hand and his back, it felt like a warm soothing waterfall, the oil, her hands, floating on his taut muscles. With every manipulation he relaxed that bit more, sinking deeper into the bed, she was absentmindedly humming as the beat on his back consumed him, he could barely bring his head to the side to smile, noticing did nothing but make her work her hands deeper, the more she caressed them like a child with it's blanket, the more he got aroused, how was it that someone so clearly mind fucked could be so bloody passionate in bed. It wasn't kinky, disrespectful or disgusting it was right, true and meaningful. It was his idea of perfection. He wasn't wrong in saying Nice was brilliant, they'd been passionate, kinky play away from home sultry, erotic but being at home, being in Holby felt just as impressionable on the heart. It felt like his soiled soul was being cleaned, that for all the wrongs he'd done, she was doing something selfless to make it seem good. Maybe it was her vice, it had appeared like that before everything, maybe it was returning, it might not have been negative like his gambling ministrations but it was something she craved for, it was clear. His turn.

Lifting his body over, he shocked her slight as he stared at her, the blouse she was wearing clung in the right places, accentuating her bust, draping over the near non existent body, curvaceous, beauty. He smirked as she let out minor protestations, her body forced to the bed as he made his advances, the buttons undone, one, two, three, the last coming of their own accord as he slipped it off her still slightly freckly shoulders, her bra lay limp, the straps coming away easily. It felt like a lullaby, the words, soft, gentle, intense, soothing, uplifting. She writhed as he kissed the material away from her breasts, leaving her alone, isolated, vulnerable; he had control of her vice. He was making full advantage. Moving down he caressed her belly button with his tongue, slowly making her come, it was like being on the beach, slowly lapping up the beach and moving away in the same heartbeat, refreshing, imploring. He felt her hands un-cusp his belt, his trousers falling seamlessly, leaving his underwear intact, a quick flash of the finger and he was devoid of that also, her hands grouped on his arse, his hips flooring on her, leaving his length little room to move anywhere but inside her, grazing her sides as he went deeper, the lullaby had just turned X-rated, flicking over the page, snow white was secretly sleeping with prince charming in a way a six year old would never actually comprehend. Then again, things have different meanings; each person interprets life in a different way. He revelled in the way her hands were grasping at the loose bed sheet, furling it into little bundles or erotic spasm distending as she let out a long fumbled groan, unperturbed, he left her waiting as he stopped rocking, not moving not removing, just sitting there, her face crossed into a frown; tease.

It felt like a game, the beat ceasing for a moment, the trance induced, the euphoria compounding into a magical mix of lust, fever, attraction, he couldn't not stop, he did the opposite, forcing himself far deeper than he'd gone before. She could barely conceal her arousal, her groan extending, leaping several registers to a well-maintained screech, although soulful it felt like music to his ears, as gentle as the humming of woman back in Ghana, singing as they worked. It was some sort of poetic justice to the end of a corrosive fairytale; innocence turned rotten, meaning fully loaded like a shotgun, pellets flying everywhere. Yet through the dance Lucifer was merrily waltzing he'd hoped she would at least have the confidence to stand the ending, good or bad, right?


	12. Untitled

**Part 12 : **_Untitled_

"We find the defendant not guilty," the shock tracks round the room like a shot gun, her fingernails dig deeper into the wooden bench aged by anxiety as it sinks in, something she's been fighting for months has just collapsed around her. What makes it even bitterer is the trident smiles on his family's face, the cheer as they clap their obese hands together, wrinkling their specially bought Primark outfits, at least her suit fits, it may sound petty to pick on little things such as their appearance but if fills her with a happy denial, that she would have to face the thought of rape for another thirty seconds.

"You still did really well," her husband intones feebly as the sneers cross the court, she's unsure of whether it's correct court etiquette to blow a gasket and rub in the fact her life has f u c k e d itself up once again. She thinks not.

"Connie, are you going to say something," her other companion asks, it's not often that he pushes her for an answer but she's taken up some odd sort of rocking motion as they grow more worried for her, both have been party to her antic's in the past and a repeat performance would be pleasantly avoidable.

"Bastard covered it, Ric" her voice is a confusion of emotions, rage, angst, fury, pity, loathing, hatred. She flinches as her husband reaches a pitying arm round her, it's a belittling sign that she can't cope, and if anyone accused this woman of not coping they'd be stupid to hang around, both these men know this though and still sit there as she waits for everyone around them to file out. Let the ruckus and rejoicing calm down before trailing through the halls, no doubt the family will be doing the macho, 'well done, I knew you had it in you, stupid up-themselves-posh-I've-got-enough-money-to-do-nothing pricks trying to mess with the gormless wonder clan'. What they don't realise is that they're meddling in their precious NHS that by wining this case and having another obese slob in the house may prevent someone from getting a new heart since the life they screwed up happened to be a top heart surgeon, are they bothered. NO.

Eventually the sounds of happiness die down and they're ok to leave, slowly Ric gets up and lets her pass in front of them, they keep to her quick pace as she strides past the foreboding looking group. It would appear that the male members are restraining her attacker hurling abuse in all directions within her ear shot 'told you I'd get away with it ponce,' 'lazy rich b I t c h got what was coming to her' 'you've ruined my life, you utter foolish cow.' It felt like an off tasting icing as he let the last bout rip, she continues marching on, fury quantifying itself as bile as she begins an offbeat run to the toilets to basically hide.

It left Michael and Ric stood there unsure of what to do, turning on the sneering amass of slobs he decides his feelings need voicing, only reducing himself to their low level he starts his spiel, "Do you actually know what you've done? Do you realise that my wife is a top heart surgeon, renowned worldwide, with the skill to save someone like you who's eaten themselves to a premature death? You must be ecstatic that she'll probably be unable to work for what, oh a year, by which point she'll be jobless just like the rest of you scum bags, and back to square one. You must be so thrilled that the sick kid making headlines in your s h I t hole of an estate who needs a new heart will now die because when one does become available there won't be a surgeon there to perform the operation because, oh yeah, Connie Beauchamp is sitting at home unable to leave the house for fear of being done over again. So yes, well done, you've escaped a life lengthening jail sentence, I'm pleased for you," by the end of his speech he's worked hard to prevent a blood vessel bursting, his face flushed from venting months of anger, his blood laced with revengeful adrenaline, coursing through at a rate of knots.

"Michael, just leave it, we're not them," Ric muttered, restraining his foe with all his might. Had it not been for the backward blow of 'posh git, who the hell does he think he is' they'd have left it without a backward glance. Reaching the front steps of the court the reason they'd been there, the woman held in both their affections was dragging on a cigarette, she may have been dealt the biggest blow since Georgia but she couldn't help but look like nothing more than the weather had changed.

"Did you really have to Michael," was all she could muster, her voice still calm and emotionless.

"Yes, Connie, I did, and smoking really isn't good for you," comes the selfish reply, it was clear he was still happily riding out the ego trip wave, it's in his nature, it's something he's programmed to do so well. Care about number one then others, he'd be useful in an emergency, don't you think?

"Oh please Michael, and neither is being told your rapist will be on the streets tonight, I think I'm allowed a fag," Ric allows himself a moment to be amused at the marital tiff playing out before him. "Look even Ric is pitying you," her voice is starting to loose it's control, it's laced with humour that long since evaporated from her soul, she can't remember the last time laughter was anything but false to her, but she can't be bothered to remember. Her soul is weary from company, she's under constant watch, and she suddenly feels like she's fourteen again, like she's a petulant child, being told what to. Rebellion rises.

"Connie, you need some tlc, why don't the three of us get a cab and go for some food and then spend the evening at the house," his suggestion goes down like a lead balloon, far from being caring it would be bloody pointless, she's being blunt, s c r e w I n g both of them and they know this, infidelity is rife in hospitals, surgeons' included. No point in denial about this, to sit through an evening of polite conversation followed by an uncomfortable silence at home isn't anyone's idea of fun, so why b u l l s h I t?

"Don't patronise me Michael," she's contemptuous now, it's a wise idea that they backed off, and she's on a trip of her own, a downward spiral of loneliness in a bustling world that neither of them are powerful enough to prevent, "if you don't mind I want some time on my own to think, so why don't you and Ric go home and I'll come back when I'm ready," it's her own polite public way of saying f u c k off and give me some g o d d a m space. But she's on the street and Jo Smith is walking beside her, no need to see how messed up she is. Smirking as the men give each other discerning looks she stalks off into the distance, her bag draped on her arm as normal, and her pace somewhat mangled as she turns the corner, out of sight, out of mind, no?

"Well, I'm not going to argue with her," Ric muses eventually, silently following Michael as he flags down a cab, it's a boring part this, the journey is slow through the traffic, it's pace quickening as they move further away from the nucleus of the city, the hub, they're only a spot in the map but a significant spot to them. He pays the taxi driver and lets Ric into their house, picking up the detritus that litters the hall floor, quickly flourishing through to the kitchen where he flicks the kettle in avoidance behaviour. "I really thought we would have won that," he states eventually, Ric left leaning on the breakfast bar, unsure of what to say or do.

"You mean Connie didn't win," he corrects, he isn't usually this irritable but he's concerned, unlike her astute husband he's worried that Connie is going to do something stupid. Being in Holby was bad enough; he really doesn't want her doing the same, or worse.

"Ric, stop fretting like a girl, if she wants to be on her own, she has to be on her own, we can't stop her," comes the reply, it's insufferable, and the ego attitude comes out at every possible moment, shining like a star, bright and twinkly. Except it's drowned by the sunlight of day.

She's half way home by now, sitting on the tube with nothing more than her bag and a bottle of vodka, it's like some aged movie, drinking yourself silly to regret your actions in the morning. She's hurting though, the act's been committed, Lucifer's come, danced, and moved on, perhaps not a cry for help but a signal that she's not ready to move on, alone or with help. She's incapable of getting past the thought of it all, of her life in general. It's like the journey she's on just now, going from A to B, birth to death, starting in the deepest, seediest estate, beginning from the studious girl that was, breaking free, going to uni, being the antichrist, the odd ball, the cow amongst sheep, the rebellious life style, the martyring husband that accepted her, loved her, showered love attention and gifts on her. Gave the baby he never wanted, she believes it's this point that Lucifer took over, killed her baby. Destroyed her soul, inverted her happiness, and reduced her to the cold shell that coasts. It spirals from there, the deceitful relationship, the infidelity, the patronising conversations, the constant moving, the journey speeding up, leaving Holby and going to London, the rape, the denial, the guilt, the hatred, always the hatred, of her, of life, of God.

"She could be on her own in the house then we'd know she's not going to do something stupid," Ric suggest, taking the cup of tea bitterly, sipping it before sitting down on the sofa, Mike gives him an odd look, he's clearly itching to differ.

"You don't know the real Connie then," he states stiffly, busying himself with drinking his tea as Ric formulated an answer that doesn't consist of 'f u c k and off' he's better than that and they both know it. Ric can see Mike licking the afflicted wound from the earlier outburst.

"Well I do know that when someone is in a fragile a state as she is, leaving them be for too long is lethal," he muses eventually, his gaze barely lifts from the tea cup as he speaks, his mind is mentally drawing up a list of places she's gone, the pub, the park, the shops, the river any seem possible, he's not been down here with her long enough to know exactly where she's gone.

"Did she ever tell you about Georgia?" comes the plain reply, they know something is going on, that she's confiding in Ric and staying with Mike, complicated puts it lightly.

"Yes, after a particularly horrific night in London before the hearing, why?" he response, shifting slightly in his seat, unsure of whether the other knows about her enjoyment of blades or not, he knows it was happening around the aforementioned moment in time but he's not entirely sure if Mike knew.

The train stops, she gets off, her life is finally under control, she's taking herself off track, it may not be the end of the line, the point at which you stop, die. But she's got the shortcut, the memory of things she needs, the knowledge her life has been lived. Everyone is taken care of her husband will morn, take leave, sit at home, get over her, and introduce new budget cuts. It's his life; Ric has Jess, Lola, Zubin Khan at a push, people who will help him get over her, it's what love does: hurts. It's in some sort of transitional state that overcomes her as she walks, the park isn't far, the grave yard is a little beyond it, she doesn't want to be alone, yet not in company, she's fed up of that. She wants silent company, people who will ease her journey to St Peter, the back stage pass to see her daughter, be with someone who offers unconditional love, someone who respects her! She's well equipped; the drink has quelled the doubts, the perception that anything is real, and the pain. The blades will merely finish the process at her doing, when she knows Georgia will be waiting, she must be, what seven now, she needs to wait till bedtime, say goodnight properly, speak to her, apologise for being a bad mummy, right the wrongs. She's arrived, the Iron Gate is left a cast as she weaves unsteadily between the head stones, then she sees it, "hello Georgie, its mummy, I came," …

"She spent a lot of time on her own and, well…" he let the predictable silence reign for all of thirty seconds before spluttering out the "she cut herself" bit in a haste, as if her were deeply disappointed in her.

"I know," he has a voice full of frank admittance, they've finally cut through the c r a p, the s h I t e that most doctors can be accused of hiding between, sitting with it out in the open appears to have relaxed them both, well marginally. "She decided to use her arm as a carving board the night she got back from Nice," he says it with a deathly laugh, more nervous chuckle. Michael is taken a back someone, he's always taken it as a weakness, something you don't discuss in public for fear of being shown up, it's the dynamic their relationship always works too.

"You mean, she cut when you came back from Nice, Jesus, I thought you'd ended up at some seedy hotel doing stuff I'd rather not know about, " he come across completely arrogant, up him self and egotistical, it's fortunate that Ric is too concerned about Connie's current antics to lamp him one, he's not that type anyway.

"Michael, she'd been put in a horrible situation and it was the only way she could cope, it's not a pleasant thing, but it's making her feel better, I, just, well, I don't like the thought of her doing it again," he winces as the atrocious images replay in his mind, the bathroom, the bed, sitting on the sofa holding her as she sobbed, repairing the damage she'd inflicted, cradling her till some over due sleep wafted into her body.

"You'll never be able to stop her Ric, no point in trying," Michael states proudly, puffing his imaginary feathers, it's a chronic case of upmarket pounce boy laziness, getting Connie to stop self harming would take a lot of effort and sacrifice on his part, both of which wouldn't hold large enough rewards for him to bother with.

"She needs to talk, the little she's done with me has helped her so much, Michael, I'm sorry to be blunt but she can't trust you, fair enough you looked after her when she was first attacked but did you hear her in the bathroom at night sobbing, or the over use of alcohol which sends her to being violently ill without you realising since she waves it off as period pains. I think I'm more concerned with the thought of her doing worse this time, leaving her to come home may not actually have that effect," it wasn't exactly like a blunt blow to the head with some solid object, nor was it a pat from his affectionate niece in a fitful bout of innocence, but it showed him up, completely, for being the inextricably lazy, ignorant t w a t of a husband.

This is it, the last chance for anyone to come help her, save her, she's so out of her mind on stuff that she's unsure, it's a trial of doubt, spasmodic in it's approach, trickling away like a stream, perhaps it's the blood oozing from her arm, snaking it's way down on to the grass, mixing in about it, stiffening as it rests on the mud congealing as it backs up. Her arm lies limp as she reaches for the other, messages aren't getting through, the world is contorted, twisting against her as she jests with death, stealthily playing pawn in the chess game, happy to be struck off first, yet yearning for the glory of the knight, the queen. But a pawn suits her current mood, ask in five minutes and she'll probably say she's content with being the board; it's how her mind works. Aim high shoot low.

"If she's anywhere she'll of gone into work," Michael tells Ric pointedly, sitting forward to place his mug back on the coffee table, his shoulders remaining hunched over as his elbows rests lightly on his knees, he's wracking his brains for alternatives, the hospital seems to be a logical one, yet not, she won't have gone to the place that's terrified her so much in the past, anyway someone would most likely walk in and her and force her to talk, it's not particularly her scene. He moves round, London is so grossly huge that anything is a hidey-hole. It takes him minutes to realise that Ric's steadily pacing the length of the kitchen, lost in a mantra.

"Going into work would be too obvious," Ric stutters, at least their on agreement about something, "when she came to Holby she landed up at Will's grave," he pauses leaving Michael bemused somewhat, the memory of her registrar from last year is somewhat distant, he only remembers current catches, not one's that died a long time ago.

"Ric, talk sense man," he replies quickly, standing up as the various family members who lived in the area flood to his mind, she's not mentioned her parents recently, going to them isn't her style, his parent's are buried near here and she resented them every day they bore breath. That leaves his cousins, none of whom she gave more time than at the annual dinner party. "Georgia, why the hell didn't I think of it," he forgets he's spoken out loud; Ric's pounding footsteps make him ajar from his reverie.

"What, Michael, speak to me," the panic is uncommon, his voice is troubled yet the other man takes several seconds to react, lifting his coat from the hall and heading out the door, silently followed by Ric.

"She'll have gone to see Georgia, I didn't think of it earlier, it's only like a ten minute walk from here, s h I t," they walk for the most part in complete silence, their smart suit shoes tapping filling the tense atmosphere, the leafy suburban streets soon give way to a small park, it's the one she's spent hours trawling with me, yet we've never gone in there, there's not even been a mention of it, yet looking back now I can see why she's been awkward, the gate is a ajar slightly, the rugged path barely visible in the shoddily lit grave yards, the light is fast vacuuming out of the sky, sunset is lasting as long as it can, letting them have the light to see. See her. She's more of a silhouette than a person, hunched against a tiny elegant head stone, I don't read the details, I didn't want to. It's her condition I'm concerned with; her body is flaccid, limp and wrought with cuts on her arms, as we reach down to her side the stench of alcohol is livid on her breath.

They've come, they've been clever enough to figure out where she'd gone, know she's strayed far from the tracks of life, stumbled into the no man's land of limbo, neither heaven nor hell have accepted her, they've coasted her to the waiting pile, sorry, heaven's full and you not evil enough to go to hell yet. Try living some more, the protestations manifest in her struggle to cut deeper, hit that vein that will end it all in five minutes, a quick and painful way to go but with a definite ticket to hell, the answer yes, yet the fear of living in fire, without water, dark without light, sorry without hope, the opportunity to never see her daughter again. Worth it?

"Connie," he takes her arm, cradles it gently before killing the bleed with his finger, keeping her on the thin precipice of life. It's a struggle, unsure of how long they can keep going, liver failure takes hours but a lift of the finger and it's all she deserves. Is it?

The horizon is in sight, the sun setting on it, draining it from sight, leaving it mild to the mind, creeping out of focus, she's not sure if she's crossed it, life or death, living or dying, keep going or stop and fight, taking the pain or numbing it, all in her control.


	13. Home

Part 13 

Slowly her eyes begin to flicker, the piercing sterile light gives the room an almost starkly angelic over view, attempting to lift the inanimate object from her face she's stopped by the pain scaling up her arms, into her mind and concocting in a groggy moan of discontent. Slowly a figure rises from sleep in the steadfast chair at her side, it's her husband, his face red raw from tears, his eyeballs blood shot and weepy as he rubs his face clear. Gently his hands lift the oxygen mask away, she coughs slightly, spluttering till he reaches for the glass of water, "only sips Con, you still aren't out of the woods yet," he whispers, holding the cup at just such an angle so she can sip without drenching herself.

"What, what happened?" she croaks, her voice hoarse from the stomach tube they've put down to ingest the sizeable amount of c r a p she's taken, she's physically pinned to the bed by drips re-hydrating her, blood transfusions replacing the damaging amount of volume loss. They're being careful that her heart won't give way any more, restarting it wasn't pleasant, all said and done she's in a state. It takes a few moments for her to encompass the room; another man is stood in the corner, facing listlessly out of the window to the bustling Saturday morning traffic, slowly she recognises his features, the sultry dark skin, the tightly maintained chest that she knows so well, the one thing she doesn't know is the scowl berating on his features. The frown he never wore, not once. Yet does today.

As she closes her aching eyes to the bright neon light the visions of the past few hours flood her mind in a vindictive, patchy, distorted flow. She remembers them finding her in the graveyard, the ambulance coming as she passed out from the lethal combination of blood loss and drunken intoxication, the stray memory of being in the emergency department, a number to their statistics. The rest is blank, gone, erased or never created. "Michael, what happened?" she asks again, more quietly this time, scared by his answer, worried by his lack of response.

"How much do you actually remember?" he states softly, taking up a gentle stroking motion on the vacant patch of skin on her arm, the other man is surplus to requirements, instead of sticking around to watch the inevitably kitsch admonition reunion, the unbearably sweet profession of love, he swiped his coat from the end of the bed and closes the door briskly.

"I remember loosing the case," she begins slowly, pausing to try and grasp a bigger, clearer picture of what's been happening, "you guys found me, and then it goes blank," her voice fills up with the choking noise as sobs rack her damaged body. It pained him to see her like that, without the ability to remember, it takes him back to being a student the numerous occasions that he'd come home to know little more than going out the flat door and collapsing on the floor, if he was lucky.

Letting a tear grace his desert dry cheek he cleared his throat before recounting the details "well shortly after we found you fell unconscious from the deep cut you'd made on your wrist, you were taken to the emergency department where they also discovered that you were several times over the legal limit and on the slippery slope to not making it. All said and done they took you to theatre to repair the damaged ligaments and then they moved you here to keep an eye on you," he stops to take a breath as she shakes her head in protest, loosing control is a downward spiral, start and it's a h e l l of a fight back. One that she'd only just dawned on, far from it being Mount Everest; this fight would be different; personal.

"You're not going to be going anywhere for weeks as it stands, they're not sure about the damage done to you liver, and I've managed to talk the doctors round to giving you counselling and not a psychiatric referral," he lets a kiss fall on her arm as he continues his speech, "I thought I'd lost you Connie, I thought you'd gone," seeing his tears begin to cradle in his clenched hands, filling her heart with an odd sense of overwhelm, unable to move only quantifying the anguish as the idea of him possessing something close to an emotion bore heavy on her soul. "I need some air," he concedes eventually, standing up and leaving the room quietly and swiftly.

"You've managed to break that man as well as yourself," the other man announces as his pacing grows more towards the end of the bed, not quite reaching it yet not staying as far in the distance.

"It wasn't meant to happen like this," she mutters in defeat, tired out from the antics she's been up to. Giving answers to his questions now is stupid, tiredness, rebound and too full of guilt to be clear. He knows that. She knows that yet they still continue in the painful silence to obtain some sort of answer.

"Well how the hell was it supposed to happen, were Michael and I supposed to just ignore the fact you drank yourself into a stupor a professional alcoholic would struggle to reach," his voice is vulnerable, the anger isn't there with his heart, it's more a confused rush of emotion piling up to the final effect.

"I felt bad about loosing the case," the tone suggested she was merely talking about the weather, not the near miss death had collided on her.

"Connie you could have had the decency to explain that to us, we could easily have given you space without the need to go on a self inflicted bender,"

"You think it's easy, you think it's been fun to go through all of this, because y'know life is just so much the better for having gone through this," the reply is calculated, strong for her condition and to the point.

"No, of course it's not been easy, I've gone through it all with you Connie, I've sat by your side when you've been drunk out of your skull, slicing your arms open with a razor, whilst you wretched for all your worth, I've sat through it all and do you see me on a self destruction flake out?" he's using all the might he can muster to prevent him boiling over into rage, fury and regret.

"What am I supposed to say?" she countered, making failed attempts at shuffling into a more comfortable position on the bed. He's calculating some sort of acceptable answer; something no one ever lets on about but merely lapses into a momentary daydream whilst letting the opposition squirm.

"Not a whole lot, but I think I've got something to say," he pauses, it suddenly becomes clear that he isn't going into this lightly, the crossfire of wrinkles on his forehead manifests this, rubbing chin thoughtfully he smiles in his usual way, the cover up any form of emotion type way. "Kumi sent me a letter a few weeks ago,"

"And, Ric a letter from your brother isn't much, I'm assuming it was happy news," she asks, letting her eyes glance round the otherwise empty room, landing up at the foot of her bed, a place which seems extremely interesting at this point in time.

"Actually," he stops, his fingers dance awkwardly on the folds of the covers, "the fighting in Ghana has worsened and as a result the hospital is under increasing stress and Lisa and Abra need more help than Ghana can offer,"

"What, Ric you're leaving Britain to go to a war zone where the only return ticket is in a body bag?" sounding concerned he sits himself down, rubbing the spot on her arm devoid of tape of tubing.

"Yes, I think you and I need time apart and you and Michael need to sort out where you're going, staying together or separating, not in limbo like you are now," he lets a finger creep onto the tears that well in her eyes, it hits him how much he's getting through to her, leaving her isn't easy yet it feels correct in the current situation.

"When do you leave?" she asks, shaking her head away from his affections, returning her gaze towards the end of the bed, if she were able a pinch would hopefully wake her up enough to realise it's all a bad dream.

"In a couple of days, I've got to return to Holby for some stuff and then I leave,"

"How long?"

"How long is a piece of string Connie, war over there is unpredictable, it's impossible to say," he lets a kiss fall on her arm, "It's for the best though, it doesn't mean I love you any less, absences makes the heart grow fonder and all,"

"I thought what I needed was close monitoring, not a continent of space," her voice is angry and mocking.

"You need support and time to get right back on track, stay here, get some peaceful rest, get back on form and I'll be waiting, but till then I'm not going to let you beat yourself down any more, you're more than all of this, more than drinking, harming, more amazing than all of that, me being around is stopping you. Let Michael take things over, let him help, just move on," stopping himself from going any further he let another kiss lace on her puffy forehead, the first flicker of motion reaching her fingers as he stood up, grasping them delicately.

"Don't go," she replies simply, losing any streak of being an adult in her voice, sounding like a child waving her daddy to work for the first day at the office, looking up to him as a tower of strength.

"I have to Connie, do visit when you're ready though, yeah?" his hand rests on the door handle, turning back he watches her smile, knowing she's beginning to accept it, knowing love hurts and that time will let her rekindle her sprit for life, kick something back into her passion and make her more.

"Yeah will do, and Ric," she stops, waiting for him to look back.

"Yeah?" he smiles, holding the gaze for what seems like minutes…

"Take care," he bows his head as she gives him a cheeky wink, letting the door slip quietly behind him he spies Michael in the corridor, nodding briefly before stopping, taking the first foot away from her, the hardest step he could ever make, the one that he know is right, yet wrong, yet right.

A flash of the swing door and bang, he's gone……


End file.
